If There's a God Who Can Save Me
by lizandletdie
Summary: For the first time on FF.N, the Victorian Sci-Fi Rumbelle Romance Novel where Gold is a mad scientist searching for the secret to time travel and Belle is his brilliant lab assistant. Now with more slow burn romance and family angst.
1. Prologue

_nd if there's a god who can save me/I'd ask that he open the skies and do it now/but he's just a chemical/I'm not a snake/I'm just falling apart again_

– Ludo, "Overdone"

**Prologue**

It hadn't come as a surprise to the village when the clever little boy with the coward father had grown into an equally clever young man. The townspeople had long avoided the child, leaving him to be raised by his aunts. Gossip held he was a bastard, sired on gods-only-know whom, and deposited by an indifferent father on indulgent spinsters. The boy himself had no idea who his mother might be, he remembered only a father, and even then not very well. The father had been absent from the village for longer than most could remember, leaving the townspeople no real idea of where the child belonged in the village hierarchy, so the boy occupied a strange place outside the life of the village. He soon learned to avoid the society of others, for his presence made them uncomfortable, but as long as he remained an outsider he was well enough liked.

When the young man who had been the little boy vanished, gossip was once again ready to fill in the details. His father had returned, it was said, or else some other wealthy patron had found the child and persisted in having him educated to the highest standards of the realm (perhaps his father had ingratiated himself on someone in a position to have his son educated, perhaps he had been a soldier killed saving his commanding officer, or perhaps the mother had been someone of some standing and her family had finally taken an interest in the boy). The boy himself must have known, but neither he nor his aunts ever shed any light on the matter, but the fact is that the boy went away to university. The aunts faded and eventually quietly passed and the boy was forgotten as his father once was.

Many, many years later, when a man named Gold moved into the largest house in the village, bringing with him a small son of his own, the villagers can be forgiven for not recognizing the clever boy in the brilliant man he had become.


	2. Introductions

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Miss Isobel French huffed at the retreating back of Professor Whale as she struggled to keep up with him, "at the beginning of the term you _said_ that the top 2% of the class was guaranteed a spot at the upper levels." She was aware she sounded like she was desperate, but she was desperate and there was really no use in pretending otherwise.

"Well, Miss French," he sighed, "that was the case at the beginning of the term."

"But not anymore?" she challenged, "I'm the top candidate in mathematics and physics," she reminded him, "and in the top percentile for everything else. I work harder than anyone, and you're saying there's no spot for me?"

He stopped as they reached his office, physically blocking her from the door before continuing the conversation.

"The academy felt it would be in the best interests of everyone to only promote the most serious students to the upper levels."

"The 'most serious' students? I've done all the readings, I've written three papers and edited two more –"

"Yes, but you haven't _published_ anything since you began." he interrupted.

"You know as well as I do that I did. The paper on the behavior of light in –"

"But you weren't listed as the _primary_," he cut her off, "and even if you had been that alone wouldn't have saved you."

"The journals don't want to publish anything written by a woman..." she almost continued, but finally the meaning of his words caught up with her and robbed the air from her lungs before the words could even form. "This is because I'm a woman, isn't it?" she finally said quietly. He had the good grace to look chagrined at her frankness, and finally opened the door to allow her into the office with him.

"Look," he said, gesturing her into a chair as he took a seat behind his rather large desk, "for what it's worth, it wasn't my call. The deans think you're here on a husband hunt and I don't know that I disagree."

"If I were after a husband I'd have married the fiance I left behind to come here." she muttered petulantly, knowing she probably was not helping her case, but the entire affair had left her suddenly exhausted.

"Be that as it may," he shot her a glance, "you've already received a fantastic education, Miss French. One of the best, really. As your professor, my advice to you is to cut your losses and do as everyone thinks. You've met some of the brightest minds the country has to offer..." he glanced at her awkwardly, "both the students and the professors. I'm...sure a charming young lady such as yourself could easily make a husband of one of them."

No, now she was exhausted. Was he really implying what she thought he was implying? Probably, she realized, humiliation burning in her cheeks. Her father had warned her of exactly this happening when she had insisted on continuing her education in the first place. Why did she have to be so bloody stubborn? She could have just stayed home and avoided this entire situation, or let the matter drop. But had she done those things she'd still be no closer to her goal, and sitting here feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to do the trick, either. She needed a new tactic and she needed it fast.

"Professor Whale," she said, deciding on boldness after a deep, bracing breath, "I can assure you that I am not looking for a husband. My only goal is to continue learning. I love the research, I love the work. There must be _something_ I can do. Please." She looked him dead in the eye on the please and held his gaze until he broke first, sighing deeply and reaching into his desk drawer.

"If you insist on this, you may look into a private apprenticeship."

"With whom? As you've pointed out, the world of academia isn't exactly going to be friendly to me."

"There's one man you might try." He fished around looking for something before finally coming up with a short letter which he passed across the desk to her, "I'll warn you now, though, if I'm wrong and this is a husband hunt, you'll have better luck with one of your classmates. He'll likely give you a place, but you won't find a warm welcome in his household."

"Is his wife terribly jealous?" The dire warnings were giving her pause, she had no desire to throw herself headlong into a bad situation, and regardless of her own intentions she needed to know everything she could about his.

"No wife, at least not anymore." He paused, "he's just...he's a difficult man to get along with, let's put it that way."

"He sounds perfect" She concluded her perusal of the letter, pushing it back towards him, "you'll write him to let him know to expect me?"

"I think, my dear," he replied, pushing the letter back at her "it might be best for you to make your own introductions. I'll give you a reference to take with you, but I'd recommend not telling him you're coming. It'll make it a little harder for him to turn you away once you're already there, I think."

She nodded. "Well, thank you, Professor Whale. This has been a most...illuminating discussion."

She had to plan fast if she was going to succeed in this. Should her father find out ahead of time that his daughter was about to move into the home of a single man, no matter how good the opportunity or how thrilling the work, he would try to stop her. She understood why – her reputation was going to be absolutely ruined – but she refused to accept the end of what she had always hoped would be her life's work was at hand. Her only hope of continuing; it couldn't be marrying a professor or editing her husband's papers, it just couldn't. This...this was the chance of a lifetime.

She recognized the name – Dr. Gold – at the bottom of the letter, and that in and of itself would have been enough to convince her to go. She'd heard he was brilliant, maybe a little odd, but she could live with odd. People thought her odd, and maybe she was. A normal girl wouldn't even consider this, a _sane_ girl would pack up, go home, marry the Vicar's tall son, have babies, and forget all about her dreams of science. Even the life of a governess was beyond the scope of not-odd-Belle's life, no lady of quality could earn a wage. So, it was up to odd-Belle to be brave. She would not go home in defeat, and though her reputation was sure to be ruined beyond salvation at least it would spare her a life of domesticity. As a presumably ruined woman, she would have the luxury of travel and of never marrying. She could continue her work under a pseudonym if she so desired. She had money enough, this...this was her choice and she was going to make it now before her bravery left her.

Back at the room she rented from a widow of early middle years by the name of Mrs. Blue, she began her preparations to leave. Packing up a valise and penning a quick note to her father explaining in very vague terms where she had gone and promising to write again soon, Belle slipped her introduction from Professor Whale and the letter requesting an apprentice into the bag. The rest of her belongings fit nicely into a steamer trunk kept at the foot of the bed. Tickets had been purchased before her return home and those also went into the valise. With that accomplished, Belle looked around one last time at the room. She would spend tonight here before setting off first thing for the northernmost tip of the country where, hopefully, she would find – if not a warm welcome, then at least a new home of some sort. Somewhere she could finally belong.

A knock on the door alerted her to her landlady's presence outside. Belle opened it to allow her entry.

"So you're really going through with this, then?" Mrs. Blue said, taking in the steamer trunk and valise, "running off to become a...gods only know what!"

"I'm running off to become a scientist, ma'am." Belle replied, her voice steadier than she felt, "this is what I went to school for after all."

Mrs. Blue seemed to ponder this for a moment, before sighing and surrendering.

"Well, if you're going to insist on this then at least take this," she handed her a card, "if you have any trouble at all, this is another one of my girls. She stayed here for a few years before she married and her husband's work is out that way. If you need anything, get in contact with them."

Belle glanced down at the card, before tucking it away in her valise with a nod.

"Oh, Mrs. Blue," she threw her arms around the other woman's neck, "thank you ever so much for looking out for me while I've been away from home."

"Bae!" Dr. Gold's scream echoed through the hallways as he stormed up the stairs to his son's bedroom, the clicking of his cane and his strange gait making the sound of him distinctive even without his announcing himself. The maid – a pitiful little blonde girl named Ella – had made herself scarce (as usual) at the first sign of temper. It was one of her better qualities as an employee, actually, as he was rarely forced to endure her presence for long. As he barged through the doors into his son's room he slammed a packet of papers onto the boy's desk in front of him. Bae didn't look scared or cowed or anything else one might expect – he was more defiant than anything, full of all the teenage rebellion his 13 years was capable of.

"I told you," Baethan Gold bit out, "I'm going away to school and you can't stop me."

"Oh really?" Dr. Gold hated the tone of his voice, the harshness of it, how angry he was, but the threat of losing his son had triggered every awful impulse in him, "and who exactly is going to be paying for all this schooling then?"

"My _mother_ already agreed." the boy challenged, his father not missing the intentional emphasis on the word 'mother,' intended as a slap in the face to his father.

"Your mother...and her new husband..." He knew what he wanted to say, he wanted to remind him that his mother didn't want him, wanted to remind him of so very many things, really, but held his tongue. There were some things a father couldn't say even in anger, Gold would not be that man no matter how much it pained him. So instead, he took a deep breath, leaning hard on the cane he had nearly forgotten he carried in the excitement of his anger, "Bae, son, wouldn't you rather stay here? I'll get a governess, tutors...you'll have the same education as anyone else, maybe even better."

"You didn't have tutors!" Bae pointed out, "I just want to be normal. I want a normal education. What's wrong with school anyway?"

There wasn't an answer to that question, because the real answer was 'there's nothing wrong with school, I'm just afraid you won't miss me' and how did one explain that concept to a thirteen-year-old?

"Bae..." he finally choked out, hoping his son would understand what he wanted to say without having been told.

"I just want to be like everyone else." His son whined, Bae was still so _young_, how could it be time for him to be starting his own life already? "What's so wrong with being like everyone else?"

"Will you at least _consider_ the tutors?" He hated himself for begging like this, but he always hated himself, so what difference did it make?

"Will you consider the school?" Bae pressed.

He was spared from answering by a knock announcing Ella's presence at the door.

"What is it?" he hissed at the girl, earning a flinch and the barest hint of a squeak.

"Begging your pardon, sir," she curtseyed and avoided eye contact, "but there's someone to see you...a young lady."

"Papa," Bae said, affronted, "you didn't actually invite a governess, did you?"

"I didn't invite anyone," he replied tersely, following Ella down the stairs into the drawing room.

He had prepared a biting insult for whomever dared violate the sanctity of his home with their unrequested presence. That insult died on his lips when, the moment he entered the room, the young woman in question turned from her perusal of the nicknacks on the mantle and flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Dr. Gold," she held her hand out to him and for a moment he couldn't recall whether to shake it or kiss it, so he compromised by giving her a terse bow, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you.

"Well, I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage," he shot a scolding glance at Ella who looked alarmed, and curtseyed herself out the door as quietly as possible, "I'm afraid I've not been informed of who I was supposed to be expecting."

"Oh, forgive me!" the pretty girl exclaimed, handing him a thin bundle of papers and waiting expectantly for him to read them.

He motioned for her to sit on the settee opposite the armchair he preferred, before settling himself down. The first paper he recognized as his letter to Whale asking for a student to be sent to assist in his work, and the second paper seemed to be a letter of recommendation in which he was informed that the candidate in front of him was a Miss Isobel French, who until recently had been one of his most promising students at the university. The letter went on to list some of Miss French's accomplishments, ending on a recommendation that she would make a most useful assistant in whatever endeavors he could come up with.

"Well," he said after a long moment spent looking over the letters, "I'm afraid you've arrived before the letter telling me to expect you, Miss French."

"Ah," she had the good grace to blush prettily at that, the pink staining her pale skin and making her eyes – oh goodness, her _eyes_ – an even brighter shade of blue, "Professor Whale suggested that...what with the need for haste mentioned in your original note and the time taken to find the proper candidate..."

"He recommended you just turn up and count on my good graces not to toss you back out into the street?" he supplied, perhaps just a touch more sarcastically than truly necessary but gods she was too pretty by half.

"Something like that, yes." Rather than looking chagrined, she merely smiled at him again, hopeful optimism seemingly her default expression.

"So tell me, Miss French," he paused for effect, "what is the real reason you're here?"

"I...you sent for an assistant, sir," she chewed nervously on her lower lip, "I am qualified."

"Yes, but you're clearly a young lady of at least _some_ breeding and this is a bachelor household – just me, a teenage boy, and the servants," she looked about to interrupt, "none of which make for an appropriate chaperone. Clearly you were doing _very_ well in your classes, so why come here?" He set the papers down and fixed her with a cold stare, "I warn you now that despite my rather colorful reputation, I'm not a man to be fooled. You'll tell me the truth or you'll hop back on the mail cart to town."

She sighed softly, her shoulders sagging, and for the first time since he'd seen her she looked vulnerable and tired. He schooled his features into an expression of disinterest and distaste even as every bone in his body demanded he comfort her. He may, he acknowledged, have gone too long without adult female companionship. This didn't bode particularly well for her use as an assistant, if he was going to find her this distracting.

"This is my last hope," she said with a wry smile, "I've been informed that despite my high marks, my spot at the university has been set aside for a...how did he put it? A 'more serious' candidate," she said the last part with a bitter little laugh, "after everything I sacrificed and everything I put into my studies, wasted simply because..." despite her attempts at humor, she seemed to be near tears in the recollection of events.

"Because you're not a man?" he finished for her, earning a grateful smile that made his heart flutter in a way he preferred not to think on, he knew then he would give her a chance despite all the many, many reasons not to and not for the reason anyone else would think. It wasn't because she was pretty, it wasn't because he was desperate, it definitely wasn't because he had gone mad: it was simply because he understood. He knew what it was like to do everything right and still be found wanting.

"I just wanted a chance to prove myself," she sighed, "you're the only hope left to me."

He sat dumbstruck for a moment. He'd never been anyone's only hope before, most especially not a woman's. Still, though, he needed to know she was the _right_ candidate. A pretty face and schoolroom successes – no matter how prestigious – would only take you so far in his work.

"Well, then, I suppose the important question now is whether you're suited to this sort of work. I am, of course, assuming you're the only candidate Whale opted to send my way for the interview," the way she avoided eye contact for a moment confirmed that theory, "but are you sure this is what you really want? Because I warn you, there will be no special treatment. I'm going to expect you to work as hard as a man and to perform the same duties." He left the rest unspoken: one night in his house and all proper society would assume the worst. She might be able to ingratiate herself back into polite company if this turned out well, but there was probably no way she'd ever marry. In response, her body canted towards him in barely contained excitement and her eyes grew wider. She wanted this, he realized. She desperately wanted to be here, to work with him. He rose, beckoning for her to do the same.

"Miss French, I believe all that's left is for you to see what I'm working on."

He led her down a long hallway and up a side staircase to a tower that he lovingly called his workshop. The high ceilings and wide spaces made for a perfect laboratory for some of his larger machines, and also provided room for a few other bits and pieces scattered around in various states of completion. It was the only room the servants were strictly prohibited from entering, and he was reminded of the thick layer of dust on the shelves and the cobwebs that brushed the tall corners of the ceiling as he saw it through how it must have looked to Isobel – every inch the lair of a man driven mad by his own ambitions and he flinched at the description, glancing over to her to gauge whether she truly thought him insane.

He was pleasantly surprised to find her gaping in open-mouthed awe at the various gadgets scattered about the place. Her fingertips brushed against a particularly spectacular failure as she moved about the room as though in a dream.

"This whole place is amazing!" she exclaimed, moving towards the boards he kept his equations on. Here, she finally seemed to come back down to earth, her eyes scanning them with an intensity that fascinated him. He leaned against the wall and studied her as she studied his work, he knew now that she was the right candidate. Whale thought he was punishing her and making a fool of him, but the damn idiot hadn't even realized, had he? The way her face lit up when presented with real work, the way she seemed to absorb everything in the room, her fascination with the formulas and equations in front of her. The girl was brilliant, that much was becoming painfully obvious the longer he watched her. He couldn't have asked for more in an assistant if he'd been given a list to select from. As she read, her brow furrowed and her mouth screwed up into a strange expression.

"Problem, dearie?" he teased gently.

"No! No, not at all. Well," she paused and her color rose as she looked at him nervously, "you have an error here."

"What?" he limped over to stand next to her, mildly affronted but curious nonetheless.

"Here," she pointed to a portion of the board containing a particularly complicated piece of work, "the (λ+1) here should be a (λ+1)². You missed the exponent."

He could feel her eyes on him nervously as he read through the work again, this time focusing hard on the dropped superscript.

"Well, I'll be damned." he said quietly, seeing her face flush with relief at his casual acceptance of her mathematical abilities. He was almost insulted she thought him so small as to begrudge her this bit of correctness, but then she probably had plenty of experience in being underestimated in her life. It was best not to make a fuss. "The first rule if we're going to work together, my dear, is that you can't be afraid to correct my mistakes. Trust me, I won't hesitate to correct yours."

"So, then that's really it?" her voice was almost too hopeful to bear, and it brought a smile to his face to be able to give her this, "you're really accepting me as an assistant?"

"It would appear so," he hesitated here, "if you're willing, that is."

Her face broke into a wide smile, taunting him with her nearness.

"I'd like nothing more!"

"Well," he moved towards the door before ringing the never-used bell to summon Ella, "I'll have you shown to your room, then. Work will begin tomorrow."


	3. Hypothesis, Experiment, Results

As she was escorted through the house, Belle couldn't help but suspect there was something very odd about Ella the maid. Belle probably shouldn't judge, seeing as she still had to write her father to let him know exactly how thoroughly she'd managed to upset his plans for her life, but there was still definitely something wrong with the girl. She had been shaking at being summoned by Dr. Gold and her relief at being told to show Belle to a room had nearly deflated the poor thing. What on Earth was going on in this house?

"This will be your room, miss," Ella said, opening the door to a fairly generic bedchamber. The room was respectably furnished and contained a fireplace, armchair, a vanity, and a large four poster bed. The dressing room contained a chest of drawers and a short bookcase with a handful of books (a quick glance informed Belle they were largely histories and poetry, but she did spy a book on Greek mythology on one of the shelves).

"I've...this is one of the guest rooms," Ella continued, very intentionally not looking at Belle as she began opening the heavy drapes over the windows, "I hope I wasn't mistaken in not putting you in the family rooms in the west wing." She at least looked embarrassed by her statement, but Belle felt the warmth rising in her cheeks at the implication.

"No, that...isn't necessary." She choked out, "the guest rooms are perfect."

"Oh my goodness," Ella exclaimed, "please forgive me! I didn't mean to imply anything...like that. It's just that he never has company. Especially not young ladies. Please..." Belle could see the tears beginning to form in the young maid's eyes, "please don't tell him what I said."

"No, Ella, it's alright. Truly." Belle sat down on the edge of the bed, "I suppose I should have expected this sort of reaction when I came here in the first place." She sighed, "can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, miss."

"Where is everyone?"

"What do you mean?"

"This is a huge house, it should be full of people. So far I've only seen you and Dr. Gold."

"Ah," Ella began. "Well, Mrs. Lucas is the cook, her granddaughter Ruby works as a second maid, then there's Graham who keeps the stables and drives on the off chance the carriage is needed. The master has a child, Master Baethan, but I suppose you wouldn't have seen him yet."

"And that's it? No valets, no butler, no footmen?" Belle had grown up in a manor house like this one, they were supposed to be positively crawling with servants. Even a single man living alone in a house like this one would have had more than two maids, a cook, and a man for the horses. The grounds needed tending, at the very least, and with a boy in residence, tutors should be available if he were too old for a governess. This whole situation was increasingly odd.

"No, just the four of us servants." Ella shrugged, "the master has always said he sees no point in paying for someone to do something he can do just as well himself, or that he doesn't care about."

"So the lawns grow wild and the boy has no appropriate education?" Belle felt herself rising to righteous indignation. If Dr. Gold wanted to run feral across the moors that was his problem, and Belle had chosen to come here of her own volition, but she refused to watch a child's education be so neglected when there were clearly resources to do something about it.

"I wouldn't say no education," Ella hedged, "Dr. Gold took it on himself years ago to educate him himself."

"Which would have covered the sciences, but what of English and history and literature and the arts? And does he still train the boy? If his son has been helping him with his work then why send for an assistant?"

"No, Master Baethan quit the lab a year or so ago, I suppose. They...fought."

"And nothing since then?" She quizzed, but Ella's expression was all the answer she needed. This was absolutely intolerable, but she needed to remember her place here. She could be back out on the street at a moment's notice, and she'd burned a lot of bridges to get this far. There was no going back. No, this was going to require a different sort of intelligence if she would be able improve things here even a little. Fortunately, she had a fairly good idea of where she might find an ally.

"Ella," she began, taking a deep breath, "when is dinner served?"

Dinner, it turned out, was not really "done" in her new household. The doctor apparently had a habit of eating in his workroom and Neal – he preferred to be called by his middle name, apparently – had taken to being served in his room to avoid the awkwardness of a dining table to himself. However, Belle found him a more than willing dinner companion once she had extended the invitation via Ella. He arrived in the dining room promptly at 7 o'clock that evening wearing a coat that was just slightly too short in the arms (she probably wouldn't even have noticed had he not self-consciously kept tugging on them throughout the meal) and all the nervous energy a boy of his age could possibly muster. It had made for a surprisingly pleasant evening. By the time dessert was on the table, Belle was feeling heady with the success of maybe making a new friend in the house, even if he was a good twelve years her junior and in that awkward age range between being not quite young enough to be her child but also not old enough to be her brother.

"So," Neal had said as he poked at a fruit tart, "you're not _really_ here to be a governess, are you?" His voice was trapped someplace between hopeful and annoyed and she almost choked on a mouthful of wine.

"Oh gods, no! Why would you think something like that?" He flinched near imperceptibly at the shock in her voice, and she wished she could take back her words then. "I mean, do you want a governess?"

"Not really, no." He took a sip of wine and continued shuffling his food around on his plate, "It's just that when you arrived we'd been fighting...about me going away to school, I mean. Then you arrived and well..."

"Well, that was a coincidence I assure you." She smiled conspiratorially at him. "I'm actually here to help your father with his work."

"The time machine again?" Neal groaned, "He used to have me work on that but I hated it."

"Hated it? How could you hate..." Suddenly, Belle's brain caught up with the rest of the conversation. "Wait, it's a _time machine?!_"

"You didn't know?" The boy exclaimed, leaning forward onto his elbows in shock, "He's been working on it as long as I've been alive. That's why my mother left! It's why everyone thinks..." Here, he glanced around as though to make sure no one was eavesdropping and lowered his voice. "It's why everyone thinks he's insane."

Belle sat in shock for a few moments, her hand wrapped tightly around her glass. Slowly, she forced herself to relax enough to focus on the boy in front of her. On his words and his face. Still, though, the import of what he'd said was banging around inside her head. Time travel. She had literally thrown away her entire life in the hopes of..._time travel_? The equations on the board, the ones for light and time and...she hadn't put them together, she had been so captivated by the experience of seeing them, by being invited in and treated as a peer that she hadn't once considered what they meant. And they meant _time travel?!_ He was building a time machine. Literally building a time machine right now in his workroom. She'd heard the stories of the man driven mad by his genius and of machines and inventions that had failed to function, but she'd assumed them to be fairy stories told to first year students to scare them into line. His early work was still well respected, in fact he was mentioned in a few of her textbooks and his work had even been referenced in the paper she'd co-written on light. She'd thought herself prepared to follow where he led her, trusting his reputation that his brilliance would save her, but an actual time machine?

She had no idea what she discussed with Neal through dessert, but luckily he seemed more than happy to return to his room after finishing, rather than attempt to socialize further. Belle was grateful, at least, that the boy had such limited experience with the outside world. He had no idea that there would be any expectation of after dinner conversation, and his companion was close to shaking with the need to sprint up the stairs to read through all the calculations in the hope that maybe she hadn't just leaped straight from the frying pan into the fire.

As soon as she saw Neal to the staircase leading to the family rooms, she took off immediately in the other direction. She still mostly remembered the way back to the workshop, and it only took her a few wrong turns to find her way back. Once she finally reached the door, she threw it open and rushed inside, only belatedly remembering that it was entirely possible that her new employer might still be in his workshop this late in the evening.

"Oh good," he barely spared her a glance from the pages he was looking over, "I didn't think to see you again until morning. I trust everything has been to your liking?"

"I..." she began, not quite sure what in five hells he was talking about for a moment, "Oh! Yes, the room was lovely, thank you. I just wanted to see the board I was looking at earlier, with all the equations. You don't mind, do you?"

"No no, it's your workspace now, too, dearie." He waved her in the general direction of the board, still not really looking at her. "Make yourself at home."

Nodding in acknowledgment, although she knew he wasn't looking at her, Belle returned to the spot she had occupied earlier, staring at the boards covered in symbols and numbers – only this time, Belle studied them with a purpose. Where before, she had merely been examining them for things that looked familiar and scanning for correctness (a habit picked up from school), here she really began to _read_ them, noting the familiar symbols – light and time, here she saw some calculations on electrical output and some data on the resistance types of various metals. As she read, the pictures became clear in her mind. It was good work, regardless of whether or not it was practical. This was pioneering, she had sat in lectures where time travel was discussed, although she'd never really studied the topic in detail before instead preferring things with a solid, practical application in the real world. But she knew enough to know that this was brilliant. She'd not seen its like before.

She wasn't sure when he'd moved to stand behind her, but all at once she became aware of the heat of him. It wasn't uncomfortable, him being so close, she found she rather liked it actually. She continued her thorough examination of the subject at hand before even acknowledging that she'd noticed him.

"So it's true, then," she said softly as she came to the end of the board. "Time travel. You're really working on time travel."

He was close enough she could hear his gulp and the slow nod that accompanied it as his hair moved, honestly it was amazing that no part of him was touching her as close as he was. She could feel an electric current running across her skin, realizing now that she had dressed for dinner in an off the shoulder gown, one of the few she had appropriate for dining rather than work, and she was suddenly _aware_ in a way she'd never felt before. She'd been around men her entire life, she'd been alone with the Vicar's tall son when he proposed, she'd worked with men before, but she'd never before been so _aware_ as she was at that moment. She wished more than anything at that moment that she knew a better word for what she was feeling, but it was here that her education would fail her – it wasn't attraction, because she'd been attracted to men before and it didn't feel like this – this was nothing more than an awareness that he was close enough to touch.

"Yes." His breath was a whisper into her hair at this distance, and she found herself wishing he would touch her because she would know what to do then, a reaction would be required and she would perform it – either an acceptance or a rejection, but she would know what to do – and an equilibrium would be maintained. But this, his tentative nearness, no governess or chaperone had ever warned against the subtle danger of an almost-touch, nor of the siren's call of a man who made no demands except on her mind. This was something she found herself held in place by, pinned like a butterfly under glass by the warmth of his body. What was she to do when trapped between the temptation to simply cant her body back into his, or the equally strong need to leap forward and break the spell around them. "Is that a problem for you?" He asked.

"No," she replied, consciously taking a step away from him and turning, drawing herself up to her full height, "it's not a problem at all."

"Good." He nodded tersely, "Then I shall expect you after breakfast tomorrow to begin proper work."

After she left, Gold threw a ball of glass against a wall. It was a fairly inexpensive piece – he'd ordered a large quantity of them thinking that when filled with mercury and heated, the resulting gas should jump start the process. As it turned out, that was not at all what happened when you heated glass and mercury and as a result he had quite a few empty glass vessels sitting around collecting dust. He used them as paperweights and occasionally attempted to juggle them. And now he knew that they made a particularly satisfying sound when thrown with great force against a stone wall. This is what he loved about science: Hypothesis, experiment, results. It was all so simple. So why, then, did this all seem so bloody complicated?

When Milah had left, it had simplified his life. She'd been unhappy, and she'd been a distraction. The man she had run away with was in the Navy and so had shared none of his social circles. His solicitor had been brilliant and as a result he had been able to keep his son. Moving back to this place had removed any and all distractions. He'd thought he could teach this to Bae and they might have a sort of peace at last between the two of them. But Bae hadn't wanted to learn these things his father had to teach him. He wanted to learn history and philosophy and tales of great heroes and had no interest in the passion of his father's life. So he'd let the boy go and now he was trapped in a room with this...woman. This enchanting woman who understood his work and was willing to help him in it and who was completely and in all ways off-limits to him.

He threw another piece of glass against the wall, the tinkling of shattered glass raining down in a pile on the floor soothing him in its simplicity. Complicated. It was all so damn complicated.

And now he was going to have to clean up the shattered glass, or else explain to her later why he'd been throwing glass at a wall. He should return to work, to the dispassionate numbers and formulas that made up his life's work. Or since he couldn't focus, he should try to sleep. He had never been much for spirits, not liking the way they dulled his mind, but even that would be preferable to sitting alone and hating himself. So, of course, he did none of those things, instead falling into what he affectionately called his 'thinking chair' – an armchair that looked out one of the windows over the loch – and wished, not for the first time, that he were anyone else.

How could he have agreed to let her stay? Worse, he had offered. She would have been content to go and he had extended the offer of a place to live and of work for her to do. He hadn't told her what he was doing, because he half expected her to walk out at the first sign of his madness and he had wanted her to stay. Not because she was beautiful, although she was, but he had known many beautiful women. His ex-wife had been beautiful, after all. He wanted her to stay because when he'd spoken to her and discussed her studies and her reasons for running to him – to his work, he mentally corrected himself – he had recognized in her a kindred spirit. She was someone who loved science as much as he did. She loved the work, she appreciated the process. It had been so long, he realized, since he'd had anyone to talk to about his work and his day to day activities, someone who would understand what he meant when he said the day had been good, or that his progress was slow. He would have accepted her in some capacity had she been of perfectly average intelligence once she'd confessed she was passed over for her male classmates in every other setting. But once she had seen the board and noticed his error, his stupid dropped exponent, he had known she was perfect. In that moment he'd have promised her the moon and the stars just to be able to talk with someone, talk with _her, _about his work. He'd have ripped his own eyes out to not be so alone anymore.

Was this how Bae felt, then, not having companions his own age? He pushed that thought from his mind as soon as it came. He was here whenever Bae wanted him, his son never had to be alone except by choice. He'd promised himself that before the child was born, he would always – _always_ – be there for his son. As he sat in his chair wallowing in his own misery, exhaustion finally overtook him and he drifted off to sleep alone in his chair.

When he finally awoke to the sun's light shining through the window into his eyes, he could already hear the sounds of someone moving about in the room behind him. He hoped it was just a maid, but both Ruby and Ella knew better than to enter his sanctuary, and Bae never liked this place. No, there was really only one explanation for who it could be and it was the one person he didn't want to find him asleep in a chair. Maybe if he pretended he was dead she'd leave. But it was too late, his change in breathing must have given him away.

"Good morning," she almost chirped, "I didn't see you at breakfast."

"Good morning," he moved to get out of his chair, forgetting for a moment his leg injury only to be painfully reminded as his right leg buckled underneath his weight, sending him hard into the wall. She was graceful enough to pretend like she hadn't noticed, "I uh, rarely take breakfast."

"Oh." She said, her eyes settling on the pile of glass at the wall, "I take it you had a rough night last night after I left?"

"Something like that, yes." He grimaced, he'd forgotten about his fit of temper and had really meant to clean all that up before she could see it. He didn't want her thinking she'd actually signed on to help a mad man on a fool's errand, after all. "Don't touch it. I'll clean it up later." He added lamely, but she nodded as though he was making sense and turned to face him.

"Well, you asked for me to come after breakfast and here I am." She looked around the room with an almost proprietary air that set his heart aflutter, "What would you have me do?"

A dangerous question, that, but he refused to indulge his worse instincts and instead limped over to the table to grab the cane he had stupidly left hanging off the edge the night previously.

"I thought we'd start with what you began yesterday," he rifled through a chest of drawers nearby until he came to what he was looking for. He set the thick sheaf of paper down in front of where she stood. "I'd like you to go through these papers looking for more mathematical errors." He almost added something sarcastic like, _it's not all excitement, dearie_ but she didn't flinch. She had the same sort of breathless excitement he'd seen the day before when she first saw the room as she sat down primly with a pen and began to read through his work. He watched her for a moment, wondering once again how exactly he'd managed to find someone so perfect for this job before finally retreating to his own workspace where he could begin the lengthy process of preparing the work she would be double checking later.

Only the occasional scratch of a pen as she double checked a piece of his work, or as he recorded a new idea broke the comfortable silence of the workshop.


	4. Equal and Opposite

Belle spent the better part of three weeks rereading Dr. Gold's old work. In that time, the household seemed to have fallen into a slow, easy rhythm. Belle would dress in her work clothes in the morning and go downstairs where she generally found Neal already waiting for her. They would share a friendly meal and some pleasant conversation over Mrs. Lucas' cooking. She discovered that the books in her room had been some of his, that he kept them scattered throughout the house so that his father had no idea the extent of his passion for heroics, and his secret desire to make a career in the military. It was this more than anything that endeared him to Belle, she of all people understood the need to hide who you are from a parent and the toll that doing so took on the spirit.

After breakfast, Belle would retreat to the tower where Dr. Gold was usually right where she had left him the night before. She hadn't caught him sleeping there since the first day, and his clothes were always fresh, so she supposed he must sleep. She just didn't know when. Tea and luncheon would both be taken in the tower. She assumed, by the terrified look in Ruby's eyes and the way the teacups rattled if Ella were the one to bring in the tray (and, to be brutally honest, by the cobwebs that filled every corner of the room) that the maids were not accustomed to coming into the workroom. So Belle made a point of taking the tray from them at the door rather than making one of the poor girls walk all the way to the table. Whether Dr. Gold would have eaten at all if she wasn't there was really anyone's guess.

At seven each night, Belle would retreat from the tower room with her eyes heavy and her mind completely exhausted, but with the satisfaction of having done something useful and constructive with her education. She and Neal had ceased dressing for dinner within the first week of her living with them, instead she would go down to dinner in her work clothes and spend the evening with him in a much more subdued, though no less appreciated, conversation.

Belle wasn't sure she remembered the last time she felt so accepted, or so happy, as she did those first few tentative weeks. She thought, perhaps, she might be able to live like that forever.

Gold had noticed these things. Everyone thought him too absorbed in his work to really pay attention to what was going on in his home, which was how he liked it. If they thought he couldn't keep the maids straight, they wouldn't bother him to choose a menu for the week and he could dedicate the time spent on that to more important issues. Even madness had its benefits, after all. So when he found that the maids looked a little less panic stricken at the sight of him and Bae returned to quietly ignoring him rather than angrily glaring, he of course noticed. He could only assume it was something about Miss French that calmed them, after all she calmed him, but damned if he knew how. Maybe it was just something unique to her that settled those around her. Or maybe she was slipping opium into the water, but either way he still appreciated the relative peace in the house.

"Still no letters from home, dearie?" He had probed once, a few weeks into her employment. She had been flipping through his correspondence for him (not one of her usual tasks, but he had been having a bout of inspiration that morning and hadn't wanted to be interrupted by the mundane details of his investments and letters from Bae's mother), but froze like a statue at his question.

"Why do you ask?" She hedged.

"A young lady on her own? Living with an unrelated man?" He shrugged, "if you were my child I'd have come out to get you as soon as I learned you had gone. I half expected pistols at dawn by this point, frankly."

He was rewarded by a slight relaxation of the tension in her shoulders and a rather un-ladylike snort.

"You needn't worry about any of that, sir," she replied. "I thought it would be prudent to keep the more salacious details of my employment out of the letter telling my father I'd gone."

"Do your parents not know where you are?"

"I only have a father," she offered softly, "and no, he knows I have found work and will not be returning home, and that is all he needs to know. I'm sure I have some very angry letters waiting for me should I return to the boarding house or the university, but as I have no intentions of leaving here until this," she gestured to the papers before them, "is complete and even if I did the university made it _quite_ clear I was not welcome back, I think he'll have some time to come to terms with the situation."

"And if he doesn't?"

"If he doesn't," she shrugged, "then I have some money from my mother and access to a time machine. I'm sure I'll be fine."

He chuckled at this and smiled at her, wishing he shared her assessment of the situation. He didn't want to push her, though. He was too afraid she might take his advice and go home and then where would he be? He kept telling himself she was vital to his work, and it wasn't entirely a lie – she was proof checking years of calculations but there were dozens of young men who could do the same. His reluctance to let her go was simply that she was _Belle _and she wasn't intimidated by him; not by his reputation or his moods or his obsessions, not by his temper or the fact that everyone else was terrified and thought she should be, too. He found it very comforting to know someone else cared about what he was doing, and that it was her specifically pleased him in ways he preferred not to dwell on.

So when he got the first of the letters addressed to himself from a solicitor informing him that he was assisting in a breach of contract by allowing a woman in his employ to avoid returning to her fiance, he could hardly be blamed for burning it in the fire grate in his office and not mentioning the matter of her sending letters home again.

He didn't understand why he hadn't sent her home with the arrival of the first letter until later. He assumed it had something to do with his unrequited lust for the girl, until the day his dinner tray was late. It was never late, either Ruby or Ella would leave it in the hall outside the door promptly at 7:30 and he would collect it when he remembered. When it hadn't arrived by a quarter to eight, Gold decided to investigate. He was stalking past the dining room towards the kitchen, where he intended to give Mrs. Lucas a piece of his mind and possibly make Ella cry (for all her other failings as a maid, Ruby was not prone to fits of hysterics which simultaneously made her less amusing but also easier to deal with), when he heard what sounded like a giggle. Not just any giggle, it sounded like Belle's giggle. He stopped for a moment, looking around to see where the noise might have come from. He heard another giggle, and what sounded strangely like his son's voice coming from the dining room.

He supposed he should have realized that they spent time together – or at least that one or both might make use of the dining room to take their meals in – but for some reason, the idea that _this_ was where Belle went after she left him...he didn't know how he felt. He was standing outside the door listening to his son say things he couldn't quite make out through the heavy wood, but in a tone of voice that he'd stopped using with his father longer ago than Gold cared to think about. And then there was Belle, speaking freely and giggling at his son as though they were friends or confidantes. He was jealous of both of them, of their easy camaraderie, but also so happy for each that they'd found some semblance of peace and joy in this place. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to swing open the door and know for certain that he could find a warm welcome and a place at the table with them. That his son still loved him and that Belle was on his side. But he couldn't be sure of any of those things, so he passed by the dining room, ensuring Ruby would be up to bring him food within 10 minutes or so help him they would all be out on the street.

He burned the letters from her father's solicitor the next time they came, too, and stopped letting Belle go over his mail for him. He never told Belle or Bae that he knew of their dinners.

He did start attending breakfast in the dining room, though. It hadn't taken an act of genius on his part to figure out that if they were sharing one meal, they were likely sharing others, and since he knew Belle took two of her meals in the tower with him, process of elimination had him lurking in the dining room before either Belle or Bae had even woken up, and for his patience he was treated to the sight of Ella nearly choking on her own tongue upon noticing him before she scurried off – presumably to warn the others that he would be taking breakfast today. The next person he saw was Ruby, who barely spared him a second glance as she placed trays of food on the sideboard. But finally, he was rewarded with Belle stumbling into the room.

He stood, acknowledging her presence with half forgotten manners. She looked particularly pretty today, he decided, though her hair had obviously been put up rather hastily (he wondered if Ella had informed the _entire_ house of his change in routine or if she had just been in a particular hurry for bacon this morning) and she had left most of it loose around her shoulders in soft curls. She was wearing one of those dresses she favored with buttons down the front and tailored to resemble a man's shirt, but this one was in a soft blue that matched her eyes. He wondered if she really preferred those dresses, or if those were just the ones that she could put on and remove easiest without a maid. Maybe he should look into more servants at some point, or at least another maid so either Ella or Ruby could take over as a lady's maid. Belle would probably like that, and either of the maids would probably faint dead away at the prospect of spending less time dealing with him.

"Dr. Gold," she curtseyed quickly, "I don't usually see you at breakfast." She seemed flustered. Ella had definitely alerted her that he would be there, evidently neither one trusting him to be alone with his son.

"Well," he replied, perhaps a little curtly, "I decided it was time for a change in my routine."

If she took issue with his tone, she provided no outward sign of it, instead filling her plate with eggs and toast and fruit and taking a seat near where he sat at the head of the table.

"I've almost completed reviewing the last packet of calculations." She glanced at him, "I should be done today barring anything being severely incorrect, which I don't anticipate."

"That's good," he began, tearing a piece of toast on his plate as they talked. "When you finish that I have a new project for you. But no need to talk work at the table, I have you for long enough up there." He glanced shyly at her, "what would you normally discuss if I weren't here?"

Whatever she would have said was interrupted by Bae walking into the dining room and laying eyes on him.

"What are you doing here?" The boy grumbled, clearly not liking this interruption of his routine.

"I do live here, you know." He shot back, cringing inwardly at how petty he sounded. When had things gotten this bad between father and son, anyway?

Bae hmphed and sullenly loaded a plate before sitting several seats away from his father but where he could still carry on a conversation with Belle if he chose. What an odd arrangement they made, he mused. The woman between them being the only thing keeping father and son from each others throats, and her giving significant glances to the younger that were not missed by the elder. Something was going on, and he would have the full story out of her before the end of the day. But not now, his big gesture was neither the time nor the place to challenge this tentative alliance between the two. Not if he valued peace in his house, at any rate. And he found that he was tired of this civil war between himself and his son. He was willing to at least attempt to meet the boy halfway.

"So..." Belle glanced between the two, as though hoping one would provide her with a topic of conversation, "Neal, do you have any plans for the day?"

Gold almost choked on his toast.

"Neal?" He looked between the two of them. "I'm fairly sure I named him Baethan."

"You named me Baethan Neal," the boy grumbled under his breath.

"Your mother named you Neal!"

"But it's still my name!" The boy jumped up from his seat, his plate forgotten, "It's my name and it's my life."

"Where are you going?" Gold yelled at his son's retreating form as the boy stormed out of the room.

"I'm leaving," Bae bit out over his shoulder, "Just like everyone else."

He punctuated this last dig at his father by slamming the door to the dining room. He sat there, stewing for a long moment, wishing he could finish the damn machine and go back and figure out where he'd gone wrong. He finally felt something brushing against his hand and glanced up to see Belle tentatively caressing his hand comfortingly. When he didn't immediately jerk away and scold her, she became bolder, wrapping her fingers around his and squeezing gently.

Neither one spoke, he simply stared at their entwined hands unsure of what it meant or where to go from here.

"That could have gone better," she said with a surprising amount of false cheer, releasing his hand to begin fussing around by moving the plates on the table around. He didn't know what she planned to do with them, but moving them seemed to calm her.

"The maids will get that, you know," he said petulantly, wanting her to come back and comfort him, wanting to burn the whole thing down and start again. The clatter of plates against each other as she set them down too hard rewarding him for his effort.

"The maids won't set foot in here until you've gone," she snapped, spinning to face him, "nobody would except me. But you know that, don't you? I was woken up by Ella in a near panic because she was terrified that your son would come down here before I did! She was afraid if Nea – Bae caught you in here alone you'd start a fight. But you did that anyway, because you can't stand for one moment the idea that the boy might have a life outside of you. That _anyone_ might have a life outside of you."

"Nobody forced you to come here, dearie," he growled at her, "you're free to leave when you please."

"And what of your child?" She shot back, "is he not free to come and go or will you hold him captive here forever?"

"What I do with my son is none of your concern!"

"Then I think I shall stay," she replied coolly, "the poor boy needs someone to listen to him."

"He's free to tell me anything he wants!" He hated himself for this, hated the rage welling up in his chest and hated that he was yelling.

"No, no he isn't." She corrected, "anything he tells you will be used against him. You don't respect him. Anything he cares about isn't nearly as important as what you _think_ he should care about!"

"I know what's best for the boy," He stood up and walked around the table in order to loom over her menacingly. "I don't push him anymore than he can handle."

"But he doesn't _want_ to be you." She met him toe to toe, even as she had to tilt her head at an uncomfortable angle to stare him in the eyes. "He's a clever boy with his own thoughts and his own dreams! You can't attempt to bend a child to your will and expect them to stay with you once they have a choice." She had unshed tears sparkling in her eyes as she spun to face the wall and avoid his gaze.

He recoiled at that, recalling her avoidance of her own family. No wonder she was so passionate about Bae, she was trying to spare the boy the same fate she had suffered. He backed away, making a conscious effort to force the anger out.

"I'll expect you in the tower in half an hour," he finally whispered, backing away from her and retreating to the comfort of the absolutes of mathematics and science.


	5. Outside Forces

By the time Belle got up to the workroom, she was livid. Where did Dr. Gold get off treating her that way? Or Neal, for that matter. The boy wasn't wrong looking for a life outside his father's purview. The more Belle thought on it, the angrier she became at the selfish bastard. She at least had the choice to leave here if she wanted, but Neal was trapped by age and lack of options. It wasn't right. It _wasn't_. She would fight for Neal, and she would fight for peace in this house.

What could he do to her, force her to leave? He wouldn't, if for no other reason than because she had seen all his formulas and he was smart enough to keep her close now. She loved Neal and she loved her work – she could even love Gold – and she was _happy_, and Belle knew enough about life to know that you didn't throw away happiness because it happened to come in the home of a man who sometimes made you want to strangle him.

By the time she had arrived in the tower room where they worked, most of her vitriol had ebbed, leaving her merely peeved where before she had been raging. The object of her displeasure was, as always, sitting with his back to the door and didn't immediately acknowledge her when she entered. Well, if he was going to sulk like a child she wasn't going to indulge his bad mood by apologizing. She had nothing to be sorry for, after all. He could say that Neal was none of her business, and maybe he was right, but the boy had to be someone's business and nobody else was accepting the job so here they were. In fact, she would tell him exactly that, should he ask. Or bring it up. Or say something that annoyed her again.

Well, she decided, let him sulk. She still had work to do and she wasn't going to let him being unreasonable deter her from it. Who cared if it was technically his life's work? It was hers now, too, and he could just get used to it. Just like she had gotten used to the cobwebs in the corners and the thin layer of dust coating everything.

She slammed the book she was paging through on the table and stood up, pushing the chair back as she grabbed a rag off a shelf where it had clearly not been used recently enough and climbed the ladder for the bookshelves, clearing the dust off the top of one before he interrupted.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" He demanded, pushing his chair back to stand underneath the ladder.

"I'm cleaning your cobwebs." She shot back just as harshly.

"And why are you doing that?"

"Because I'm sick of working in a room filled with dust and darkness. It's not healthful."

"I don't employ you to wipe dust off the shelves." He was almost petulant now, but his hands holding the ladder to prevent it moving gave lie to his anger.

"Well, unfortunately I'm the only one foolish enough to set foot in here besides you." She yelled back at him, continuing her work until the entire shelf within arm's reach had been cleaned to her satisfaction.

She would need to come down now to move her ladder to the next spot along the wall, but he was still standing down there glowering up at her and gripping the ladder with both hands so tightly that his knuckles had begun to turn white from the effort.

"I need to move the ladder if I'm going to finish this."

"You need to climb down off the ladder and finish your work." He was calm now, but his voice was hard and demanding.

"Part of my job is to make sure that _your_ workroom is usable." She replied as evenly as possible while descending the ladder.

"Your job is to do what I tell you to do." He growled into the back of her head as she reached the floor. She turned around to face him, but that just put her face uncomfortably close to his. She could see his lip twitch with barely contained rage as she stared him down, but somehow she wasn't afraid of him. She had seen him rage and rant, but she knew he wasn't a danger to her as surely as she knew the sun would rise in the east. Still, though, her skin prickled at his nearness and she had to fight the urge to break eye contact. Finally, he released his hold on the ladder with a snarl, turning to walk over to the door, flinging it open. Rather than leave, he seized the bell pull to summon one of the maids and, without taking his eyes from her, he yanked it hard a few times. Within moments, Ruby was in the doorway looking around nervously.

"Yes, sir?" She curtseyed quickly and glanced back and forth between him and Belle. Dr. Gold never even spared her a look, his eyes locked firmly on Belle as hers were on him.

"Go fetch Ella," he said to Ruby, still never looking at her. "Miss French is going to direct you both in some spring cleaning in the workroom."

Ruby quickly shot a questioning glance to Belle before dashing downstairs to retrieve Ella and, presumably, some cleaning supplies. Once she had gone, he stalked back over to Belle. She hadn't moved from her spot near the ladder and found herself gripping one of the rungs to hold herself steady as he stood so close to her she could smell him. Close enough that when she inhaled her breasts just barely brushed against his chest. She had no idea what he meant to do. The door was still open and Ruby and Ella would both be coming into the tower any moment. She thought he might kiss her, but instead he held one hand up to the side of her face, just barely skimming her skin with his fingertips.

As he traced from her jawline down her throat, she closed her eyes and bit her lip softly at the sensation. His hands were soft with just the barest hint of calluses at the fingertips. She'd never been touched so gently before, and never would have expected it from a man who had looked as though he wanted to kill her just seconds earlier. She ran her tongue nervously over her bitten bottom lip. She couldn't decide if she wished he would kiss her or if she just wanted to freeze into stone, but at the appearance of her tongue he gave a low groan in the back of his throat and released her, sending her swaying softly backwards even though he had barely been touching her at all. She opened her eyes and saw him standing there, his head bent as a penitent. He finally looked back at her, his dark eyes now almost completely black with some unnamed emotion Belle didn't recognize. He took a deep breath, and she thought now he may kiss her, but instead he took a stiff step backwards, retreating towards the door and not saying a word, leaving just as Ruby and Ella appeared. The scent of his aftershave and the soap he used clinging around her teasingly, muddling her wits.

Belle knew she would be expected to provide direction, but it took her the briefest moment to gather her wits back to her. She thought she saw some flash of recognition on Ruby's face, some acknowledgment of Belle's conflicted feelings, but if she had it was gone as soon as it came.

He was simply a fool, that was all there was to it. Dr. Gold had made his way out the front door and to the shores of the loch as fast as he possible could, foregoing a jacket or coat in his haste to be away from his assistant. Hopefully the chill air would ease some of the heat pulsing through his veins. Whether it was lust or anger or some heady combination of the two, he couldn't be entirely sure. Gods above, the girl was going to be the death of him if he let her. He gave up on using his cane, instead carrying it and limping as fast as he could down the rocky shore. His leg was going to kill him the next day, but the exercise and the brisk air cooled his head, letting him think rationally for the first time in he couldn't remember how long. Since she'd arrived, he supposed. He'd not been himself since.

He should tell her to leave. He really, really should. No matter what else she was, she was technically his employee. But if she left, then he'd have to work alone again and he would be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed the last few weeks of having someone _there – _someone to discuss ideas with, someone to break up the monotony that sometimes accompanied his work, someone just breathing in the same air as he did. It had been nice to not be so alone. Stooping, he picked up a rock off the shore and threw it out as far as he could into the water, taking some sort of comfort in this small act of destruction. His leg finally gave out with a scream of pain, forcing him to lean hard on his cane. A quick glance around had him hobbling over towards a nearby boulder where he collapsed. He was going to regret this come morning, he had no doubt. Hell, he regretted it now.

"The cleaning is done, if you're ready to come back inside." He jumped at the sound of Belle's voice behind him, not having realized she had followed in his fixation on his own thoughts.

"Ah." He stiffened a little, giving what he hoped was a disarming smile. "Well, I seem to have been a little hasty in my rush to leave," he stretched his bad leg slightly, "I may be out here for awhile."

"Oh," she said, plopping down on the rock next to him, "I'll keep you company, then."

"There's no need," he lied, he needed her to stay.

"It's no bother," she shrugged, gazing out over the water. He tried not to flinch as a breeze made her shiver and lean slightly closer to him. "I should apologize," she said softly.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he interrupted. "I overreacted."

"But I was out of line." She pushed a strand of hair that had worked itself free of her braid from her face and behind her ear, "I shouldn't involve myself with you and Baethan like I do, I just hate the idea of him growing to hate his father."

"Well, it would be a lie to say I didn't hate that idea myself."

"I promise I'll try to keep my opinions to myself," she began, "but I cannot stop being his friend."

"I'd never have asked you to."

"Well," she looked over at him strangely, "that's good, then."

"Truthfully, I'm glad you two get along so well. He's been lonely, too."

If she picked up the second meaning in his statement, she politely kept it to herself and they fell into a pleasant silence.

A flash and a rumble of far off thunder interrupted their quiet contemplation.

"You should probably get back inside," he said, glancing over at her.

"You can't stay out here alone," she chastised, "you'll catch your death."

"Oh I'm made of sterner stuff than that, dearie."

"Regardless," she stood and took his arm, pulling him up and allowing him to lean heavily on her, "we'll both go."

Something tugged at his chest at her gesture, wishing he could put into words what her dedication and affection meant in the heart of a lonely old monster, but there were no words. There were only simple gestures and this strange wish he couldn't quite put into words.

"Why time travel?" She asked idly as they made their slow way back to his home.

"Pardon?" He looked up at her as though she'd grown a second head.

"I was wondering why, out of all the many things you could have applied your impressive intellect to, you chose time travel."

He seemed to consider this, far longer than Belle would have thought should be strictly necessary.

"Well," he finally said, "why not?"

Of all the answers he could have given, this was the only thing she had not fully been prepared to hear.

"Why not?" she parroted lamely, as though by repeating it she could begin to make some sort of sense of it, "so you've dedicated your life to the pursuit of this? To the exclusion of nearly every other relationship...because it was available?"

"Well," he straightened slightly at her incredulous tone, "when you put it that was it almost sounds insane." He shrugged and looked back towards the house again.

"Come on," she pleaded, "tell me the truth. If I'm to put my entire life in your hands, can't I at least know why we're doing this?"

He was quiet for a long moment, the tension still in his shoulders.

"Miss French," he said, turning towards her with a twinkle in his eye, "I think it's high time you met her."

"Her?" Belle asked.

"You'll see," he said with a grin.

Of all the possible 'hers' that Belle could have imagined, he had once again taken her by surprise. She was standing in a basement room in the same tower they worked in, one which was somehow even more drafty than the workroom.

"Miss French," he said with a flourish as he pulled a dust cloth off a lump in the middle of the floor, "meet Eurydice."

"You named it Eurydice?" she quirked her eyebrow at him, "doesn't that seem like an odd name for a time machine?"

"Well, have you ever seen another time machine?" He challenged, and she was forced to concede his point with a shake of her head and a grin. "Then how would you know what one should be named? Perhaps Eurydice is _exactly_ the sort of name a time machine should have. Maybe she would think your name is a strange one for a girl."

He emphasized this last point by tapping her on the nose playfully.

"I just mean...it seems a bit fanciful is all."

"Should I name her something more mundane, then? _Cora,_ perhaps?"

Belle wrinkled her nose at this.

"No, not that. It sounds like something breaking."

"Well then, Eurydice she remains."

Belle walked up to the machine, trailing her fingertips across the smooth wood of the console at the front of it as she examined it. She was clearly still in progress, the controls were sitting in the plush seat rather than being attached to the wooden console in front of it, and the platform the whole rig sat on was open and visibly empty, still waiting for the appropriate innards to make the time travel possible. But she was lovely, nonetheless. She tried to see her now through his eyes – the potential for greatness contained in her well-oiled wood and carefully designed exterior, the hope for the future she contained.

"She's beautiful," Belle sighed, and she meant it. The machine – Eurydice, she mentally correct – was beautifully designed. She turned to face him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile across her face. He was staring at her dumbstruck, desire evident on his face. Belle wanted to look away, to break the moment that had settled over them and go back to their easy camaraderie. Things between them had become easy the past few weeks of work, but she would be lying to herself if she pretended like this tension hadn't been hovering over them the entire time. It was then that Belle realized the truth of her situation; she was alone in a dark room with a man. She'd been kissed before, by fellow students at parties where too much had been drunk and by boys in the village when she was young, and contained in each of those kisses had been a hint of a promise that she would eventually give up her potential and her passion and settle into a respectable life. Everyone already thought her ruined, what did she truly have to fear from him now?

She bit her lip, wishing he would bridge the gap between them and kiss her or touch her. Anything. She wanted _anything_ from him. She wanted him now more than she'd ever wanted anyone. He'd never been one to push her, never been one to underestimate her. He'd respected her when no one else had, he'd trusted her with his life's work, and he'd given her a home when she had needed one. And at that moment, she wanted him to kiss her. But he would not do it, she knew. He had always pushed her, but never for that. She would have to be the one to go to him, she would have to be the brave one. And so, she was.


	6. Inertia

As Belle closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his, Gold was dumbstruck. She was kissing him. _Belle_ was kissing him. _His _Belle was kissing him. And, most importantly, she wasn't kissing him like she wanted him to stop. He leaned in closer as her hand tightened around his haphazardly-tied cravat, holding his head where she could continue her languid exploration of his mouth. Every cell in in his body demanded he thrust his fingers into her hair and press her into him, but that would startle her. He was going to need to exercise all his strained patience, she was too inexperienced to risk startling her.

No matter what he was – mad, desperate, lonely – Gold was no fool. He was not one to turn down a good thing freely offered, he would take this as far as she was willing to go. He sucked gently against the seam of her lips, drawing a soft gasp from her before darting his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like tea and jam, sweet and delicate. She took the hint and began moving her mouth in tandem with his, her hands moving from his cravat to lace in his hair, holding him in place for her continued perusal. If pressed, he'd be forced to admit he rather enjoyed this sensation of being used for her pleasure. It was unbearably erotic, and he saw no point in trying to wrest control from her. She would have what she wanted from him in the end, regardless. Instead, he gently encouraged her, letting his hands roam her back before coming to rest on her hips with his thumbs tracing small circles over her hipbones.

His patience was rewarded when she finally broke her mouth away from his, her lips a bruised looking red and cheeks flushed with excitement. He saw in her eyes a mirror of his own glassy desire, and she examined him now as though she meant to commit his every feature to memory. He nearly groaned, no one had ever looked at him that way and he found himself desperate now for her approval. Her head tilted to one side as she twisted fingers into his hair coyly, and he used the chance to press his lips to the side of her neck and begin to slowly tease her by alternately pressing kisses and small bites into the pale skin he found there. She gasped and moaned with the pleasure of it and he couldn't help but to grip the fabric of her skirt tight in both fists to prevent himself from pressing against her and grinding. She was too inexperienced and he was far too lonely for this to be wise, but damned if he could stop himself. Not with her pulse fluttering under his lips, not with her head tossed back granting him unreserved access to her throat, not with her skirts bunched tightly in his fists and her hips scant inches from his groin.

He buried his face in her neck and breathed deeply, dragging her smell into his lungs and then into the blood in his veins where it carried her throughout his body and into his brain here the only fevered thought to remain was simply _Belle._

They might have gone on like that for hours, they might have gone further, Gold had no idea what she'd planned for him or if she had even planned at all. Unfortunately, his hard won self-control finally gave out and one of her little moans had him pulling her closer. He had been so careful not to startle her, but once she was pressed against him with the firm length of his erection jutting against her belly she panicked. Belle leapt from him so fast she looked like she'd been scalded and settled with her hands covering her mouth and a mortified expression on her face about six feet away from him. He chose to lean over Eurydice's console awkwardly as he attempted to regain some of his absolutely shattered composure.

"Belle," he gasped, "I can explain..." Explain what, exactly, he wasn't sure. Surely she didn't need him to explain _that_? He knew she didn't have a mother, but she'd gone through a significant amount of university with a large quantity of young men. It must have come up at some point.

"N – no..." she stammered, "that won't be necessary I'm just...oh gods, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." She nearly sobbed as she rushed from the room in a panic. Of all the ways he had seen this going in his fevered imagination in the dark of night (when he had dared dream of it at all) it somehow had never ended quite this spectacularly bad.

He grabbed his cane from where he had dropped it and swung it hard into the polished wooden console, denting it badly in the process but damned if he could care at that moment. Not when the rest of his life was in shambles and the only two people he cared about had both run away from him in the last two hours. He wasn't even sure he could fix this or how he could even begin.

Belle slammed the door of her room shut and leaned back against it, sliding slowly to the floor. Oh gods, she was the worst sort of fool. What had she been thinking? She had kissed her employer and then run from the room like a frightened little ninny at the first sign of...she couldn't think about that. Belle wasn't a child, she knew the facts of life quite fluently thanks to a curious nature, access to a vast library, and a father who didn't really understand that girls were just as interested in that sort of thing as boys were. But with his...him pressing against her, that little voice in her head that was supposed to warn her off of bad ideas had suddenly snapped to attention. She was kissing her employer, she was kissing the one man who had ever listened to her ideas and taken her seriously, she was kissing Dr. Gold, she was kissing the one man she should not be kissing and she had panicked and ran and now she would have to leave and where could she possibly go now besides home and what would become of her there?

She was spared further self-flagellation by a knock at the door behind her. Scrambling to her feet, she opened it to find Ruby standing there.

"I came to see if..." Ruby began, before looking up and noticing the distress on Belle's face. "Oh gods, Miss Belle, are you alright?"

"Yes, Ruby, I'm fine," she lied.

"You're crying! What's the matter?" Ruby entered the room, swinging the door closed behind her.

Belle touched her face, confused to find dampness there. She hadn't even realized she was crying. It was at this realization that she lost her last shred of dignity, breaking down into ugly sobs.

"I – I kissed Dr. Gold," she managed to get out. To her credit, Ruby kept most of the distaste off her face as she shushed Belle.

"There, there now," Ruby cooed. "Do you know what you need?" she asked, waiting for Belle to shake her head before going on, "you need some tea and some motherly advice."

"I don't have a mother!" Belle broke out in new tears, although she wasn't sure if it was that she missed the mother she'd never known or that she still felt stupid, perhaps both.

"Me either," Ruby confided, "but my Granny is downstairs and she's an expert at tea and advice. Why don't you come with me?"

"I can't let anyone see me like this." Belle was sure she must look an absolute fright and she couldn't face people like that.

"I'll take you by the back stairs," Ruby urged. "Nobody uses it but the servants and Ella has gone to the market. Nobody will see you but me and Granny."

It took only a little more coaxing before Belle finally agreed.

"So you kissed him and then ran scared, do I have the gist of it now?" Mrs. Lucas (who insisted that Belle must call her Granny if she was to be getting advice in her kitchen) said as she placed a cup of tea in front of her.

"That is basically what happened, yes."

Somewhere along the way Belle had managed to stop crying but her face still felt sticky and hot.

"And what prompted this escape?"

"I could feel – uhh – _him,_" Belle said shyly, she had never talked like this with other women before and wasn't entirely sure how technical one was supposed to be.

"I birthed three children, girl, and I made sure my Ruby here knows the mechanics," Granny said in her no-nonsense sort of way, "no need to be shy about the details."

"His...penis was pressing into my hip," Belle mumbled, "and I realized what was going on and I just...I wasn't sure what to do so I ran." Belle could feel her face flushing hot and prayed nobody would comment on it.

"And he didn't try to force you or go further than he did?"

"No, he didn't even chase me when I ran."

"That's good, then," Granny nodded. "He's never been the type to go after the maids and I was hoping you'd not prove my faith in him ill-founded."

"No, before that he was actually very patient." Belle said thoughtfully, smoothing the wrinkles at her hips where his hands had crushed the fabric. "He barely touched me at all."

"So, he didn't use you poorly," Granny replied. "And I assume that since you started all this mess you wanted to kiss him." Belle blushed redder at her tea and Granny seemed to take that as an affirmative answer. "So if I'm not too blunt, what were you afraid of?"

"I'm supposed to be engaged," Belle whispered after a long silence, "to a boy back home."

"And this boy, do you love him?"

"No," Belle was almost pleading now for them to understand, "I don't really even like him that much. I don't want to marry anybody. Marriage means giving up my passion for someone else's dream and I don't want that. I've worked so hard to get here and now to risk it all for one stupid silly kiss?"

"Oh my dear," Granny said in a soft voice, "is that all?"

"What more does there need to be? I may have ruined my one chance at happiness by kissing him."

"Well, first of all," Granny said with a glance over at Ruby who was quietly busying herself with peeling potatoes as she listened, "I don't want either of you girls getting the idea in your heads that just because a man wants to kiss you that means he wants to marry you. More than a few pretty young things like yourselves have fallen for that and it never ends well for them."

Ruby nodded in agreement, but Belle still had her reservations.

"But what if he casts me out?"

"Then you send him to me," the older woman said with a wink. "That man may rant and carry on with the best of them, but you ask Ruby, he's never fired a maid yet. Driven them mad until they left? Yes, but he's never, ever fired one. And he's more than fond of you, girly – perhaps a bit too fond, but still – I'd be surprised if you didn't always have a home here."

Belle wrapped her hands around her cup, letting the warmth soak into her. The simple comfort of the gesture soothed her, and the presence of other women she could share this with gave her courage when courage had failed her. She was searching for the words to thank them for their help when the kitchen door swung open and Graham, the stable hand entered.

"Graham, what have I told you about dirty boots in my kitchen?" Granny scolded, clearly not minding his presence.

"I'm sorry, Granny," the man replied with a soft smile. He had an odd accent for the area, Belle noticed. He also had the full attention of Ruby who had developed a coy, predatory smile as she began sweeping behind him. Belle suppressed a grin at the maid's behavior and took a sip of her tea.

"Well, you're in here now," Granny tossed back, "what can I get you? Dinner's not for another hour."

"Actually, I'll need you to make up a basket for tomorrow. I've just been told that I need to take Master Baethan on a long trip."

"Neal?" Belle's eyes shot up to Graham's at the mention of the boy. "Where is he going?"

"That's the best part of the news," Graham grinned wide, "Doctor Gold has relented. The boy is going to school. I'm to take him to the school first thing tomorrow, he's going to begin the semester late but they've apparently received special permission."

"Oh that's wonderful news!" Granny cheered. "He's been wanting that for ages!"

Belle's mind was racing. Her first thought was to wonder if he'd wanted to apologize for the kiss, but no, he had to have written the headmaster days ago. He'd decided on this long before she did anything. He'd relented all on his own and hadn't told anyone, that silly, wonderful man. Belle had the sudden urge to run upstairs, throw her arms around his neck, and thank him for the gift he'd just given his son. She didn't dare, though, not after what had just happened. Another reason she shouldn't have done it. And besides, Neal would want to tell her his news.

"I should go," she said. "One or the other of them will want to give me the good news and I'd like to wash up before that."

"That's my girl," Granny said, patting her on the head. "No matter whatever else happens here, girlie, remember that this wouldn't have happened without you."

After returning to her room, washing her face, and fixing her hair, Belle finally felt well enough to face the rest of the household. She knew Neal would want to find her and tell her the news, but she'd broken routine by not being in the workroom and he wouldn't know where to find her. She hadn't planned to see him until dinner, but once again that left nothing for her to do since she wasn't working. Either way, all roads seemed to lead back to returning to the upstairs. And the more she thought on it, the better the idea seemed. The longer she put it off, the more awkward their eventual reunion would be. There were a lot of things she needed to tell him, finally.

Gold looked up at the sound of the door opening, he knew there was really only one person who ever entered here unannounced but he hadn't thought to see her for the rest of the day, and had half expected her to have bags packed and be on her way home by now.

"Miss French," he acknowledged her without standing, not wanting to appear over-eager for her company.

"Dr. Gold," she returned, coming to stand near the table, "I heard Bae is leaving tomorrow morning."

"Yes he is."

"I'd like to apologize, then. For what I said this morning," she rushed the last part, flushing a bit at the memory of what else had happened that morning. "I didn't know, else I'd have minded my own business. I should have done so anyway, it wasn't my place."

"No," he agreed, "it was not. Still, I appreciate your candor. And anyway, you were right. I should have sent him a long time ago."

"Still, it's good he got permission to start late. How did you manage that?"

He chuckled, leaning back a little.

"Headmistress Mills owes me a bit of a favor. She hasn't given permission yet, but she will. No need to worry about that."

"Oh." she said simply, looking around as though hoping something else would catch her attention and let her avoid te elephant in the room. When nothing did, she continued, "I also wanted to apologize for..." she gulped, and was unable to meet his eye, "earlier."

_Which part of earlier? _He wondered,_ Kissing him, or running from the room as though he were contagious?_

"There's no need for that, my dear," he most certainly did not want to discuss this. "I'm afraid I rather made a fool of myself."

"No!" She exclaimed. "No, it was my mistake. It's just that I don't think anything like that should happen again."

"Quite right," he began, handing her the paper he'd been working on when she came in. "I drew up a list of people I know who might be able to make use of your services, and I will of course provide you with a letter of recommendation. You shouldn't have overmuch trouble finding a new placement."

She was staring down at the paper in her hands as though she might cry, but she didn't say anything for so long he began to worry he had misread the situation.

"So that's it, then?" she finally said, "you're letting me go?"

"It's for the best," he said, not believing it for a second even as he said it. Every fiber of his being demanded he prostrate himself before her and beg her to stay, please, even if he was never allowed to touch her again. Just so he could have the chance to gaze upon her from afar, because truthfully he saw the only hope he had of Heaven in her eyes. But that was exactly the reason she had to leave, he was too close to success and she was a distraction. She was the only other thing he wanted – not just her body, although he did find that bit rather intriguing – but she was brilliant, she was clever, she loved his son, she buoyed his spirit, and she was not afraid of him. He rather thought he might love her, and loving her would absolutely not end well. She was too far above him in every respect that mattered, completely out of reach for a half-mad hermit with no friends. He could never have her, because she would never have him. Her reaction to his kiss had made that abundantly clear. So why, then, was she looking at him with watery blue eyes as though she'd just had a child ripped from her arms?

"Well," she gulped a little, holding the paper slightly too tight at the edges. "I'll just go pack my things, then."

He nodded sharply at her, he'd half hoped she'd put up some sort of fight but he knew this was a kindness for both of them. She deserved better, and he needed to focus.

"I'll see you at dinner?" He called as she opened the door, she paused and turned back to look at him sadly. "It's just that since Bae is leaving...we'd planned to have a celebration. He'll want you to be there."

"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking a little, "I'd not miss it."

Belle didn't cry as she walked up to her room, her tears were all used up anyway. She didn't cry as she began packing her bags, or even as she laid out her traveling dress for the next day. She didn't cry at all as she washed her face and fixed her hair. She didn't begin to cry until she saw herself in the mirror, wearing the same gold dress she'd worn her first day here and realized that it was her last day. Tomorrow she would set off for gods only knew where and hope for another place she loved as much as this one. This was supposed to be her best opportunity, this was supposed to be her new home. How had she ruined her chances this badly?

She made her way to the dining room, finding Neal already there waiting for her.

"Belle!" He chirped, rushing to hug her, "he agreed! Can you believe it? He finally agreed!"

"I'm so happy for you," she replied, hugging him back, "I am so very happy for you, Neal."

"Actually," he smiled awkwardly, pulling away, "it's Bae now. That was his one condition, that I go back to being Bae at home."

"Oh, that silly man."

"It's not a problem," he assured her. "I can still be Neal at school and if it's that important to him then," he shrugged, "I can meet him in the middle."

"Well, I'm going to be leaving with you."

"What? Really? I thought you were happy here."

"I was," she said sadly. "I am, really."

"Let me talk to him," Bae pleaded, "I'm sure I can talk him into letting you stay."

"No, it's alright. Your father was right to send me away." She patted him on the shoulder as maternally as she could manage with a boy who was nearly the same height as her. "And this way I can keep you company on my way to the train. Really, I'll be fine."

Bae would have continued, but his father's entrance to the room effectively ended their conversation.

"Well," Dr. Gold said admiringly, "don't you both look lovely."

"Papa," Bae said with a quick glance at Belle, "Belle and I were just talking..."

Belle gave him a stern glance and a shake of her head. She didn't want him to risk his new relationship with his father for her, especially not on their last night together. This was supposed to be a celebration and a farewell, not another argument. The boy grimaced, but didn't continue. Dr. Gold glanced between them, but didn't press the issue. The entire thing felt like a farcical play, layers on layers of subtext. She made it through dinner with no idea of what was said, because nothing meant what it was supposed to and by the time she fell into her bed that night she only wished she could travel through time and warn herself. She didn't know what to warn herself of, because she didn't regret coming here and she wouldn't let herself regret the kiss. She also couldn't regret not letting it go further than it did. So why had everything gone so, so terribly wrong? And why was it so far beyond her abilities to figure out how to solve it?

Daylight found Belle and Bae standing in the threshold as Graham loaded their bags. Belle was to be deposited at the train station, while Bae would be going on to school from there. Ella, Ruby, and Granny had turned out to say their goodbyes. Dr. Gold had already said his farewells to Bae in the workroom upstairs. Belle had not been privy to that conversation, and he had effectively shut her off from saying goodbye to him herself, but it was likely for the best. She had too much she wanted to say to him, and she didn't trust herself to say them. She took a deep, bracing breath as Bae said goodbye to Granny and the girls. When it was her turn, she found herself drawn into a series of hugs. Granny and Ruby both whispered words of encouragement, and Ella simply wished her well.

Finally, all that was left was to get into the carriage and leave. Bae hopped up first, settling into his seat and fixing Belle with the most comforting smile he could muster. She took Graham's hand, preparing to be handed up into the box with him. She chanced one last glance towards the house, her eyes naturally drawn towards the window of the tower workshop. She saw movement, and knew he was there. She stared for a minute, knowing he was also watching her.

"Belle?" Bae's voice drew her back to reality, "are you ready?"

"No," she said, making up her mind then and there, "no I'm not. I'll only be a moment." she said to Graham, releasing his hand and running back into the house. She dashed up the stairs, swinging the door open and stumbling in. He turned to face her, stiff as a board and still standing at the window overlooking the yard.

"I won't go," she gasped.

"You won't go?" he parroted incredulously.

"I can't," She amended

"You can't," he stared at her, "why not?"

"I don't want to," she finally said. Her voice was as firm as she could make it. "I love it here. When you make this machine work, I want my name to be there with yours in the papers." She walked towards him slowly. "I'm staying and I'm going to complete this work. I believe in you and I believe in this machine, and I will not stop working on it. So unless you want me to keep mailing you papers long after I'm gone, I'm going to stay."

He just stared at her, the hand not on his cane twitching at his side as he worked over her words in his head. She half expected him to begin screaming and send her away again, but she stood firm, staring him down. Finally, he growled low in his throat, stalking towards her. She braced herself up again, drawing herself to her full height. She wasn't sure if he intended to kiss her or drag her bodily from the room, but instead he stomped past her, through the open door.

"Ruby!" He bellowed down the stairs, glancing back at Belle. "Miss French is staying with us! Have her things removed from the carriage."

Belle smiled at him, so relieved she wasn't sure she wouldn't just fall over from relief.

"Gods help us both, Miss French," he mumbled as he sat down at the work table. "If you're going to be staying, then I need you to be ready to start work first thing in the morning. Go get properly dressed, please."

Belle nodded, still dumbfounded at his easy acceptance of her return, and then rushed back to her room to change into one of her work dresses with a smile still firmly affixed in place by the time she finally settled into her usual chair to begin their work.


	7. Light in a Vacuum

Slowly but surely the household began to slide into new routines once Bae was gone. Belle continue her routine of taking breakfast and dinner in the dining room, but Dr. Gold began a new routine of taking it with her. He even began to read his correspondence at the table – and sometimes even the newspaper, which he had never much interested himself with before (he had rather thought she might faint over his new-found interest in current events the first time she found him doing so). They had settled into a pleasant rhythm, work existed only in the workroom and the rest of their time together had returned nearly to normal.

It was an easy camaraderie, most of the tension of their first few weeks together having seemingly settled with her return to the workroom after their kiss. This was secretly an unwelcome change to Dr. Gold, who, if nothing else, rather missed the little touches that had occasionally been offered. It had never been anything particularly drastic – well, with the one exception – but just the brush of her hand as she handed him a paper or the way he could put his hand on the small of her back when brushing past her in a tight space. Little incidental touches, when no one else touched him had been a balm to his soul. But regardless, he would take breakfasts and dinners of casual conversation and newspaper reading, even if it left his fingers stained and was never quite what he really wanted.

"How do other gentlemen stay so clean?" he had grumbled one morning, displaying his inky fingers for her to look at.

"Other gentlemen employ valets," she had chided just as sweetly as could be.

"And what in the blazes does _that_ have to do with anything?"

"A valet would iron the pages for you," she said, taking a sip of her tea, "to set the ink."

"Couldn't one of the maids do that just as well?"

"Don't you dare!" she scolded him, "they have quite enough to do in the mornings. If you want it done, hire a valet or do it yourself."

"I could have you do it," he challenged.

"Yes, but that would cut into the time I spend in your charming company." Was the retort, said with flashing blue eyes and earning her a grin.

"Alright then." He matched her tone, "I shall hire a valet, a lady's maid, a butler, and a team of footmen. Would that please m'lady?"

She laughed at that, and prepared herself another cup of tea as he tried to avert his eyes, not really daring his real question.

"Would you like that?" he finally said, suddenly not feeling like joking.

"Like what?"

He shrugged before answering.

"A lady's maid, other servants?" He left the word _company_ unsaid, but it was the real question. He knew he wasn't always pleasant to be around, and she held up admirably well all things considered, but he had to wonder sometimes if she wanted something _more._

She seemed to consider his question for a little while, sipping her tea thoughtfully as though she couldn't quite work through his meaning. Finally, she flashed him another little smile.

"I'm not the one with ink on my fingers."

He tried to hide his grin of smug satisfaction, but wasn't sure he was entirely successful as she got up to leave.

"I'll be upstairs when you're done with your paper," she said, and he was very proud of himself for waiting all of five minutes (he checked his watch) before going up after her.

When he got upstairs, he was initially unable to locate Belle. A quick scan of the room, however, revealed her up on that damned ladder again, holding a heavy book open before her. Did the girl have a death wish? He was afraid to make any sudden noises, not wanting to startle her. Luckily, she turned at the sound of the door.

"Oh there you are," she said with a smile. "I was cross-referencing something. I think you may have made a mistake on this page, but...what are you doing?"

He had walked to the ladder and was now holding it still, wishing she'd exercise some caution when ten feet in the air.

"It's a ladder, dearie," he tried to keep his voice light. "Not a desk. Come down now, please."

"I'll be fine," she replied, "and anyway, there are too many books I need to look through for this theorem, it would take me all day to carry them down and put them back."

As if to prove her point, she replaced her book back on the shelf and fetched another one as he attempted not to look up her skirts while still monitoring her.

"If it's all the same to you," he ground out, "I would still prefer it if you were more careful."

"You're holding the ladder," she reminded him, "and I've used ladders before."

She didn't find what she was looking for in her second book, either, and before he could scold her again she was leaning over the side of the ladder grabbing at a different tome.

"Belle..." he began, but it all happened so fast he never finished his warning. The book was heavier than she had anticipated, sending her (and it) tumbling to the floor. He had no time to think before lunging forward and catching her in his arms.

"Oh," she murmured, breathing heavily from the excitement.

He was looking at her incredulously, unsure how he had managed to grab her out of midair. She was staring at him as though he had suddenly become one of the old mythological heroes. A sudden jolt of pain in his leg reminded him that he was, unfortunately, extraordinarily mortal.

"Belle," he said, trying very hard not to startle her.

"Yes?" Her lips parted softly, and he doubted she was even conscious of it but it was still unbelievably tempting.

"My ankle." He said with a flinch, hating that he had to admit this weakness even though she'd known of it since the day they met.

"Oh my gods!" she chirped, landing on her feet as he set her down, "I am so sorry! You were absolutely right I shouldn't have been on the ladder like that." She grabbed his arm and helped him to a nearby chair.

"It's fine," he hissed out, trying very hard not to reveal how much pain he was really in.

"Is there something I can do?"

"No, no I'm fine, really." He didn't want to be weak like this, dammit. He _didn't._ But when he tried to rise his ankle betrayed him again. At her scolding look (and not a little bit of pain for good measure) he finally relented. "There's a splint and some bandages in the chest over there," he indicated the correct one and she hurried to fetch it.

Rather than handing him the bandages, though, she instead dropped down onto her knees on the floor and pushed the leg of his trousers up and removed his shoe, revealing the damage. He heard her inhale sharply at the sight of it. He knew it wasn't really much to look at, a large knob of shiny scar tissue on the inside of the joint bisected by an incision that had been crudely done and poorly stitched (and insufficiently anesthetized but he would not burden her with _that_ knowledge) which had removed the bullet and caused most of the damage. He tried to remain dispassionate as her fingers trailed the damaged area gently, tracing the ugly mess that had nearly crippled him entirely two decades previously. He found her touch soothing, a balm to his bruised ego if not his near-useless joint.

"What happened?" she breathed incredulously before beginning to apply the splints.

"I shot it," he said simply, simple was best when explaining it. Simple and frank.

"You shot it? Why?"

He shrugged, knowing he shouldn't tell her, shouldn't reveal this last inch of himself, but so few people knew the truth. He wanted Belle to know, wanted the burden removed.

"Have you ever seen a colonial war, Miss French?" he finally asked.

She glanced up at him as though she couldn't quite figure out whether he was serious or not, her hands falling away from her work bandaging him.

"I...grew up in one of the colonies." She said it as a question, her eyes still looking at him as though he may have suddenly taken a blow to the head instead of his leg. "I thought the accent rather gave it away."

"I – ah, forgive me," he sighed, leaning his head back. "I'm not particularly used to being around other people. I didn't think."

She laughed then, possibly at him but he didn't care. She had a sweet laugh and a pretty smile, and she had begun tying the cloth around his splints again.

"Think nothing of it," she replied, the cheer in her voice evaporating as she continued, "but to answer your question, yes, my father was the governor when I was a child. I've seen a colonial war once or twice. Or at least, the results of them. Terrible, awful things – I never understood why we couldn't have left the locals to their own devices and used trade treaties instead. I was glad to leave."

He allowed himself a moment of surprise at her opinion, watching as she shook off the pain of remembrance before continuing.

"Is that how you were hurt, then? Wounded in action?" He now wished it was, because telling this woman that he was a hero who took a bullet to protect people like her seemed a damn sight better than telling the truth.

"No, not exactly." _N__ot at all._ "You have to understand something about me, first. I'm not really a gentleman."

"Well, you can be an ass sometimes," she agreed, "but you've always been courteous to me...more or less."

"No, that's not what I meant," he grimaced, he could already tell this was not going to be an enjoyable conversation. "What I mean is, I don't know who my mother is. I never knew her, and my father left me here with some aunts when I was very small. I was raised, believe it or not as a cloth-maker. Spinning, weaving, that sort of thing. Before the factories came, anyway."

"You were a spinner?" she gasped incredulously.

"Try not to act so surprised," he snapped. "I had a life before you were even born, dearie."

She gave him a look that told him she was reconsidering saying he could be an ass _sometimes_, and he looked away sheepishly, suddenly wishing he hadn't reminded her of their relative ages.

"Regardless," he tried to redirect the conversation, "at some point, someone sent for me to go to school. Apparently, my father found himself pressed into service on a ship – not entirely a surprise given his enjoyment of dockside taverns." And the whores who frequented them but he would spare her that knowledge, along with the probable circumstances of his birth. "And during a particularly grim battle with pirates, he took a bullet meant for the captain. I'm not entirely sure it was an intentional move on his part, but the captain apparently took it upon himself to see me educated."

"Well, that was certainly good of him."

"It was," he agreed. "I only met the man once, after I was done with schooling. I was younger than you, and he sent for me and told me as a final gift he'd purchased me a commission in the army. It was a complete shock for me, I'd never favored the military and always been drawn to the sciences. When I told him as much, he called me ungrateful and tossed me out. And that is how I found myself on a tiny little island attempting to quell a 'rebellion.'" He tried not to think about how she would have been a little girl at the time, that it could very well have been her home (he couldn't place her accent, but there had been rebellions everywhere that year). He also couldn't keep the contempt out of his voice for the word _rebellion._ It had been a group of under-supplied locals who didn't want to be part of an empire. Let them leave if they so wanted for all he cared, he'd not wanted to die for that piece of sand and trees.

"And then what happened?"

She was watching him intensely, and he realized she was hanging on his every word. She'd finished wrapping his leg, but hadn't seemed to realize it herself, her hands still moving rhythmically over the bandages as she waited for him to continue. He had never had someone be this interested in hearing about his life before, never had battle stories to tell and damned if he didn't wish he had one now.

"I'm afraid nothing particularly brave or heroic," he took a deep breath, preparing to watch the admiration fall out of her eyes. "My first week there I shot myself in the ankle."

Belle gasped, and her hand clamped over her mouth.

"Was it terribly painful?"

"Well, not moreso than getting shot by someone else, I suppose," he said with a shrug, "and it did get me kicked out of the army. It also landed me six months in a prison while the damn thing healed." He'd been lucky to keep the foot at all after that, frankly. He closed his eyes and waited for her condemnation, for the accusations of cowardice that were sure to follow.

"And then what?" She asked him softly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," she shrugged. "How did you go from six months imprisonment to all of this?"

"Patents, mostly," he replied. "I returned home, and fortunately for me I had enough knowledge of textiles and mechanics to design some pieces that became very useful in the commercial processing of wool. The patents paid for a townhouse in the city, a wife, and the leisure time to pursue my own desires." They still provided him quite a bit of income, although he also had investments and bank interest as well, like a proper gentleman. "That's actually when I first became interested in time travel. I was attending lectures at the universities, and a man came and spoke about it. He had some interesting theories, and I decided to try my hand at it."

"But your wife didn't approve?" she guessed.

"That would actually be a bit of an understatement," he grimaced. "Our son had just been born and I had begun – what she believed – was an insane new obsession. She was all right with the inventing, as long as it was something practical, but this didn't particularly have any long term investment potential and she was afraid the neighbors would start to talk, which just pushed me further into the work and pushed her further away..." he shrugged, as though that was a completion of his story, "a few years later, she was gone. Ran off with some sailor. Didn't even ask to take Bae, although she did ask for a pretty penny in exchange for not taking him."

"That's terrible!" Belle exclaimed under her breath, and he remembered belatedly that she had no mother. What a strange household they had all made, three motherless children brought together by pure chance.

"I still hear from her occasionally, mostly when she wants something – usually to cause trouble. She likes to be the parent who says yes to things, so she offered to send Bae to school but has never invited him to her home. They've not seen each other in person since he was five." He shrugged, to dislodge himself from the memories more than anything. "So that's my story, Miss French. I'm afraid it's not precisely a happy tale."

She placed a hand on his knee comfortingly. He wasn't sure she even registered she'd done it, but he wasn't about to move it either.

"I doubt anyone has a truly _happy_ story when it's all laid out like that," she smiled at him, rising and picking up the book he hadn't noticed she'd dislodged as she fell.

"So then what's yours?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Pardon?"

"What's your story? What brought you here?"

She bit her lip softly, blue eyes roaming him as though sizing him up to determine his worthiness before planting herself in her usual seat at the worktable.

"Nothing quite as exciting as yours," she demurred. "As I said earlier, my father was a colonial governor when I was born. My mother died not long afterward, taken by some kind of tropical fever. I don't truly remember her, but I'm told I favor her quite strongly." She offered an almost apologetic smile, as though apologizing for being an imitation of this other woman he'd never met and a thought occurred to him.

"Your father was very attached to your mother?" he guessed.

"He never truly recovered from her death, I don't think," she replied, "I think in the end that's why we left and came back to the mainland. I think the island just reminded him too much of her." She traced designs on his tabletop with her fingers, feeling the grain of the wood as she spoke. "I was always an odd child. That's what everyone said, anyway. Just always a little too bookish, a little too precocious, a little too smart...just a little too much." She was clearly trying very hard to keep her voice dispassionate, as though she were an outside observer and not the subject of this story.

"For a girl, you mean?" He supplied her with the statement,

"Yes, that was heavily implied," she said with a grateful nod. "How was I going to catch a husband if I paid so much attention to math and science, and not nearly enough on how to properly use a fan? If I couldn't sit in hoop skirts, then who could ever want me?" She chuckled bitterly before continuing, "even when I finally found a school that would accept me, my father insisted I agree to a betrothal first, as though the act of getting an education would ruin all my other prospects. If I ever return home, I suppose I'm to be married to the vicar's son. I've been gone for five years now, I can only hope he's given up on me by now."

He thought about feigning surprise, as he wasn't supposed to know any of this by now, but she had just confirmed what the angry letters had been informing him of since the first week she arrived.

"So you don't love your betrothed?"

"We were friendly when we were children," she said with a shrug. "But the way children are friendly with everyone. I was never particularly fond of him in general, nor him of me. Marrying me is a step up for him, and I suppose my father thinks he's the best I would be able to hope for. I'd thought once I was away at school surrounded by like-minded people it would be different, but it wasn't." Here was where her voice finally betrayed her emotional connection to her story, "I was at the top of my classes, and even as he was telling me that I wouldn't be allowed to go any further in my studies, Prof. Whale implied I should be happy to marry one of my classmates – or a professor." She made a face at the memory.

"But that's not who you are." He added for her, hoping to prompt more. He'd never wanted to know more about a person than he did Belle, and he wasn't sure how he would learn this again if she stopped. She looked at him gratefully, thankful for his understanding.

"Yes, exactly. I don't want to marry anyone." Her shoulders sagged as though the weight of this confession had kept her from being able to relax, "if I marry, I'll be expected to give up my work to keep a house and raise children. All I've ever wanted is to be a scientist, if I'm not that then who am I? I'd be someone's mother, someone's wife, I wouldn't be _Belle_ anymore. I don't want that."

"No," he said thoughtfully, "I wouldn't think you would, actually. Frankly, it would be a waste of a good mind if you did quit." He stood up, testing his leg and hobbled over to the table, sitting down to his own work.

"I just don't want to only be known through my connections to someone else," she supplied, "even you. I want to be more than your assistant someday. I want to stand on my own, do my own work. And if it takes completing Eurydice to prove to everyone that I have what it takes, that's what I'll do. If it takes me the rest of my life, I'll do it."

She would, he realized. He'd brought her into this not thinking particularly of the whys or hows, only knowing that he needed help and she was willing to provide it and he wanted her around. It had turned out to be a better decision than he could have imagined, she was far better educated than he was and a fresh set of eyes had been exactly what was needed. Progress was going surprisingly well, even with the distractions and the shorter hours he was working. He was _better_ with her around, and knowing what he did of her now he knew that she would continue after he was gone. If he were struck by lightning tomorrow, his work would continue because she could not admit defeat anymore than he had been able to.

She apparently noticed him staring at her, because she blushed a little and averted her eyes from his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking himself out of his thoughts, "I was only just realizing what a waste it really would be if you quit to have children."

He thought she might leap across the table and hug him for saying so. Had nobody ever truly believed in her before?

"And what about you?" she asked, toying with her pen, "why did you never remarry?"

"Why would I?" he said with a shrug.

"It's only, you said Bae hasn't seen his mother since he was five. It can't have been easy raising a small child on your own even with nannies, and neither he nor the maids ever mentioned him having one. Wouldn't a wife have made things a little easier?"

"Undoubtedly."

"So why not marry to give him a mother?"

"Miss French," he said with a sigh, "the one thing I've learned about women is that, when you marry one she tends to assume she'll be one of your highest priorities, perhaps second only to children. I can't promise that to anyone. It's simply not in my nature. I love my son more than I've ever loved another man, woman, or beast, but you've seen how we get on. I'd not ask anyone to forever be second place to this," he gestured to the stack of papers in front of her, "and besides, I'm a difficult man to love."

She seemed to accept this answer, smiling at him with perfect understanding before bowing her head to the book she'd fetched down, referencing back and forth between the book and his own notes, scrawling her corrections in the margins.

Belle wasn't sure what had just happened between them, but her chest bloomed with a strange warmth. She'd never really had a man understand when she explained her reasons for not marrying before. A man could never imagine that a woman might want more out of life than his name and his children, but Dr. Gold _had._ He had even supplied words for her when her own had fallen short. He'd told her the story of his life and not laughed when she had expressed an opinion on the colonial governments, never implied that her comprehension was lacking at all. What did one do with a man like that? How did one handle a man who had somehow become essential to your happiness? It wasn't the first time she'd wished for a mother to guide her in life, because no matter what books or other women might say there was no replacement for always having someone who was on your side no matter what.

They had worked quietly for hours, when a knock sounded at the door. Glancing at the clock, Belle knew it was still a bit early for tea. Curious, then, because no one ever interrupted them. Seeing Gold's annoyance and knowing his leg probably still hurt like hell, she jumped up and opened the door to reveal Ella visibly relaxing at the sight of her.

"Miss Belle," she said in a quaking voice, "there's someone downstairs to see you – a man." She said the last part in a rushed whisper, sending daggers of ice down Belle's back. There was no legitimate reason a man would want to visit her here, unless she'd been found. And if she'd been found, who knew what trouble awaited her in the drawing room?

"Thank you, Ella." Belle said, forcing her voice to be calm, "please let him know I'll be down in a moment."

She turned to face Dr. Gold, whose interest had definitely been piqued by this exchange between his assistant and maid.

"I have a visitor," she said simply, "I'll be back soon."

He nodded in acknowledgment, and she left before he could rouse any questions about why someone would visit her.

She stopped outside the door of the drawing room and smoothed her skirts down nervously, as much to wipe the sweat from her palms as to remove wrinkles, before pushing open the door to reveal an abnormally tall man standing with his back to the door as he looked into the fire. When he heard her enter, he turned and she recognized Gaston – the vicar's tall son and her intended husband. _How had he found her?_

"Belle!" he exclaimed, rushing over to her and grabbing her hands in his. She attempted to take a step back, but only found herself pulled into an embrace, "thank the gods I found you!"

"Yes," she said, pushing him none to gently until he took the hint and relinquished his grip on her, "you have found me indeed. How did you accomplish that, by the way?"

"When we received word you'd left school but not returned home, your father was frantic. He tried everything, but nobody knew where you'd gone." He dropped to his knees in front of her, holding her hands as he continued, "finally your professor admitted he'd sent you here. When we received no reply to our letters, we decided that it was for the best that I simply come in person and bring you back so we can be wed."

"This is ridiculous, Gaston," she said, pulling her hands from his and stalking across the room, "I never received any letters, I'm not leaving, and we're most certainly not going to be _wed_."

This was clearly not what he had expected to hear, and he looked uncertain for a moment before rising and following her.

"But...our engagement."

"We were never properly engaged," she insisted. "It was never announced, no tokens were exchanged, and I never wanted it. Even if it was a proper engagement, I've come to my majority now and I'd like to rescind my acceptance. I'm sorry you've come all this way for nothing."

"No," he insisted, continuing to follow her, "Belle, dear, think. What of your reputation? And after we've waited so long, you're nearly on the shelf already."

"I don't give a damn for my reputation, Gaston. And as for being on the shelf, I welcome it if it means I can be spared the attentions of men like you."

"My dear," he said, beginning to show the cracks in his confidence.

"Go home, Gaston," she said firmly. "Go home and tell papa that I'm staying here and that's final."

"Be _reasonable_..." he began, but was interrupted by the sound of Dr. Gold clearing his throat.

"I believe the lady has been quite _reasonable_, young man." He was standing in the door leaning casually against the door frame, as much probably to spare his ankle as to project an aura of confidence. Gaston was the larger of the two by far. Should he choose to make trouble...she didn't think he would, she couldn't think of that. But if he _did..._

"She should be home with her family," Gaston said, drawing himself to his full height.

"She should be precisely where she chooses to be, which is here unless I am dreadfully mishearing her." He came around to stand behind Belle, a gesture of support she very much appreciated.

Gaston looked unsure, but still refused to budge.

"I'm calling you out." He finally said, his eyes narrowing at the older man.

"I beg your pardon!" Dr. Gold exclaimed.

"Gaston, no!" Belle cried, "don't drag him into this. It's between us."

"Clearly you've been compromised by him, in reputation if not in deed."

Oh gods, this was horrifying. It was one thing if Gaston was going to insist on making a fool of himself, but this was intolerable.

"This has been my choice," she said as steadily as she could, feeling Gold move closer in a protective motion.

"Pistols at dawn!" Gaston insisted.

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Gold said, a hint of a chuckle in his voice, "I don't duel fools."

"You're a coward, sir?"

"No, I simply have nothing to account for. The young lady has made her choice."

She heard the sound of a pistol being cocked and saw his arm rise up next to her to point at Gaston.

"And I suggest you heed it. Run home, tell her father and leave her be. She's free to go if she so chooses, you have my word on that."

Gaston wavered a moment, his eyes taking in the scene before him – Belle in her workroom clothes standing next to a much older man in shirtsleeves holding a cane in one hand and a pistol in the other – before finally proffering a nod and leaving the room. The sound of the front door slamming behind him finally letting Belle breathe again. Dr. Gold also sighed, sinking into a chair and disarming the pistol.

"Well, that was certainly exciting," he said simply. "I hadn't known to expect an angry fiance today. Any other plans I should be aware of before dinner?" He seemed to mean it as a joke, and Belle laughed, but something Gaston had said stuck with her.

"What letters?" she asked.

"Letters?"

"Gaston said they had sent letters here, but I never received any."

"Ah, yes," he at least was good enough to look embarrassed to be caught. "In my defense, they were none of them addressed to you."

"And what did these letters say?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"Mostly that I was aiding in a breach of contract by allowing you to avoid your lawful fiance and by keeping you away from your father."

"Oh is that all? And why did you keep them from me?"

He didn't respond to this, instead looking everywhere but at her, she wanted to push the issue but she suspected she already knew the answer and after their earlier intimacies she was afraid to hear that he was afraid she would leave from his lips. She instead changed tactics.

"Where are they now? I'd like to read them."

"I burned them," he said simply, "I read them and burned them all."

She grimaced at him, but couldn't bring herself to be angry. She collapsed on the chaise and rested her face in her hands.

"I am sorry," she said. "I never thought he'd come for me. I never thought to be this much trouble to you."

"No need to apologize for that, my dear," he offered her a small smile, "you've been far more help than I could have bargained for and this is no trouble at all. It's hardly the first time I've pulled a gun on a man."

She was sure she didn't want to know that story at all. Suddenly, a morbid thought occurred to her. "That's not the one you shot yourself with, is it?"

"No," he retorted, "they wouldn't let me keep that one in prison. Same type, though."

"And that doesn't strike you as a bit macabre?"

He shrugged.

"It's the one I'm most familiar with."

Belle groaned and threw herself back against the chaise.

"Maybe I'll wake up now and this will all be a horrid dream."

"I wouldn't count on it, dearie," he said. "I've hoped the same thing more than once in my life. It rarely works out that way. Anyway, he's gone now and I highly doubt he'll be back before tea." He stood, and began to walk towards the door before stopping, "perhaps you should retire to your room for the afternoon. I'll see you back for work after tea?"

Something in his tone made her smile. She knew he meant well, offering to let her rest, but she couldn't. There was no way she could relax now, and she wanted to be around him she realized. Something about his presence put her at ease.

"No," she shook her head and saw his face fall at her rejection. "Stay here? We can have an early tea down here to settle both our nerves and then return to work after," she clarified.

He didn't smile, exactly, but something in his face changed and years lifted off of him at her insistence on his presence. In response, he walked to the door and rang for Ruby, informing her of their change in plans for the afternoon and then returned to his chair near Belle. It was a comfortable silence, and she was glad for it, for her scattered thoughts were loud enough right now for both of them.


	8. Gravity

If Belle had hoped that a good night's sleep would put Gaston off the marriage, she was to be disappointed. Dawn brought breakfast, and an interruption in the form of the sheriff and Gaston at the front door. Dr. Gold hadn't wanted Belle in the room for that confrontation, but she'd insisted and so Belle spent her morning in one of the overstuffed armchairs in the drawing room facing down Sheriff Keith on the divan, and her intended pacing nervously near the fireplace. Dr. Gold had taken up his position standing immediately behind her with an arm on her chair as though he were afraid Gaston would try to take her bodily from the room if given half a chance. As she herself wasn't entirely sure Gaston would not actually try to remove her, she appreciated the gesture. She knew Ella and Graham were both posted right outside the door, Ella to send for help if necessary and Graham in case a fight were to start.

"I do hate to interrupt you like this, Dr. Gold," the sheriff said as he sprawled out a bit. "But the young man has brought a very serious charge against you."

Belle found herself liking the sheriff less and less the more time spent in his company. He had the look of someone who drank too much and Belle didn't like the possessive looks he gave her, as though he'd decided she was a fallen woman and it was only a matter of time before she'd end up in his bed. It made her wish she'd been in the habit of wearing a shawl in the house so she'd have something to draw over her shoulders and chest protectively.

"Yes, I imagine he did," Gold replied tersely. "However, the young lady in question is right here to, hopefully, clear up any questions you may have."

"I'm sure she will," the sheriff said lazily, turning his attentions once again towards Belle. "Now, Miss, your fiance here seems to think you're being held against your will."

"I can see that." Belle tried to keep her voice calm even as she wanted to slap the poorly concealed lust off of his face. "But I'm afraid he's quite mistaken. I came here of my own free will, and I have chosen to remain."

"This is insane, Belle." Gaston came away from his fireplace to stand in front of her, causing Dr. Gold to tighten his grip on the back of her chair and shift a little. He seemed minutes away from ripping out Gaston's throat with his bare hands should the other man attempt to touch her.

"Sir, perhaps you should sit down." the sheriff seemed to understand the danger Gaston was putting himself in at least. Gaston looked glumly between the three assembled parties before taking a seat across from Belle where he and Gold could stare each other down like rival tom cats.

"Now, Miss French," the sheriff began again. "I understand you are twenty-five, yes?"

"That's right." She felt that should be the end of it, really. At twenty-five she was legally independent of her father, he couldn't compel her home.

"Yes, but you were twenty-four when you arrived?"

"Miss French hasn't celebrated any birthdays here," Dr. Gold interrupted.

"Well, actually..." it felt strange now to admit this but it must be done. "I turned twenty-five about two weeks after I arrived. But I don't see what that has to do with anything," she quickly added. "I'm twenty-five now."

Gaston looked excited, but the sheriff grimaced, glancing back and forth between Gold and Belle. She couldn't see Dr. Gold, but from the look on the sheriff's face she imagined it was a fairly effective glare. Finally, the sheriff rose and gestured for Gaston to follow.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, Miss French," he said.

"What?" Gaston yelped. "You're just going to leave her here?"

"There's no reason to remove her," the sheriff reminded. "This is clearly a case for the courts to sort out, I won't get in the middle of it."

"Thank you for your patience, Sheriff." Gold said, casually dismissing the other man as Ella swung open the doors to escort the two men out.

"Miss French," the sheriff turned to give her one last oily glance. "Please let me know if I can do anything for you."

Only once the sheriff was escorted out with Gaston trailing behind did Gold finally move from his position behind her.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly. "I had no idea he would do this."

"Well," he began, "I can tell you that I'm certainly not sending you home with either of those idiots."

"Then what are we to do? You heard the sheriff, solicitors are going to be called. I don't doubt that at all."

"If your father and that fool of a fiance of yours think they're the only ones who know a solicitor then they have another thing coming." He swung the door open and yelled for Ruby. Graham was still waiting in the hall while Ella returned from the door. Once the three servants were assembled, he brought them all inside.

"Graham," he said, "go fetch Mr. Jefferson. Tell him it is an emergency. Ella, I'll need you to go to town and spread the word. We're hiring servants. A butler, a housekeeper, a lady's maid, a handful of footmen specifically, whatever else the house should have. Ask Miss French if you need a list, I'm sure she knows. Ruby, tell your grandmother what's happened and that you're to be in charge of Ella's tasks for the day. Miss French and I will be interviewing staff, apparently."

If Dr. Gold resented the lost day of work, Belle couldn't tell. He took to the change of plans with aplomb. By the time she had finished giving Ella a short list of positions that should be required, he had fetched their unfinished plates from the dining room and set one down in front of Belle.

"Might as well try to eat something, my dear," he said with a shrug as he took a bite of his muffin. "I'm sorry but I'm not sure when we'll be able to eat today once we get started."

Belle made an effort to choke down some of her meal, but her stomach clenched at the memory of what had just happened. Finally giving up, she set her plate onto her lap and looked at him.

"What are we doing?" she sighed, not entirely sure to what she was referring.

"We are going to be interviewing for servants," he said simply.

"Yes, but _why?"_

"Well, for one thing I'll not have them use our living conditions as evidence against us. If a handful of footmen and a housekeeper makes this place look a little more respectable then I will hire them, if that's what it takes."

Belle wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a hint of desperation flash across his face before it settled into a carefully measured expression of stubborn determination.

"Well, if we're hoping for respectability," she said softly, "then I'm going to have to insist that a lady's maid is a bit of overkill."

"Nonsense, you're a lady. You need a maid."

"Hardly," she snorted indelicately. "I gave up being a lady when I came her – ladies don't draw a salary. And anyway, if we're doing all this for appearances I don't think that's the best idea."

"What do you mean?" He seemed genuinely confused.

"Well, I'm your employee."

His gaze softened a little at her statement and she hurried to continue before he could speak, not sure she could handle what he had to say at that moment. "You don't hire servants for your employee's exclusive use. You hire them for family, and no matter what else I'm not family. If you hire a maid for me, people will think I'm your mistress."

He seemed to consider that for a moment, as though debating whether or not her being his mistress would help their case.

"You can't hire a maid for me," she said with as much finality as she could muster. "It's simply not done."

"Belle," he breathed her name and she was suddenly aware of him in a way she'd not been aware of him since they kissed.

He'd not used her given name since that ill-fated afternoon and the sound of it sliding off his tongue wrapped around her in a way she couldn't quite explain.

"You're not _just_ my employee –" he began, and she would never know what he meant to say as he was interrupted by a knock at the door and Ruby entered.

"Pardon me," she said, curtseying quickly. "Graham has returned with Mr. Jefferson. I thought you'd want to know immediately."

"Excellent, Ruby. Please show him in." He had shaken off whatever he was about to say admirably well, although Belle still felt as though the carpet had been nearly yanked out from under her only to catch her balance at the last moment. She still stood on her own two feet, but she didn't dare trust the carpet again.

"Jefferson is my solicitor," he explained, rising to greet the younger man as he entered.

Mr. Jefferson was a taller gentleman, rather handsome but a bit extravagantly dressed and with a slightly flamboyant nature. He seemed to be a natural showman, which Belle would admit likely served him well in court, but she was still a bit on edge and his forwardness reminded her too much of some of the men she'd met in her classes.

"Dr. Gold," he said jovially, shaking Gold's hand. "Pleasure to see you."

"I wish it were under better circumstances," Gold was on his best behavior, but he seemed genuinely comfortable with Jefferson and it was that more than anything else that finally calmed her nerves enough to get through the day.

"Well," Jefferson said once tea had been served and Gold had explained why he'd summoned him, "I can see why you had me rush."

"So you think they really have a case, then?" Belle asked, her voice betraying her nervousness for the first time in the interview. "They can really make me go back?"

"Oh, no, no. Nothing quite that drastic, Miss," Jefferson said with a quick wink and not a small amount of charm that got Gold's back up just a little.

He was used to having Belle all to himself and found himself not reacting well to Jefferson's easy way with women.

"What, then?" Gold asked, wishing suddenly that Jefferson wouldn't waste quite so much time. They had an exquisitely busy day ahead of them, after all.

"Granted this is all conjecture on my part," Jefferson began, "but from what you've told me about the questions the sheriff asked and her situation I think they probably plan to claim that since she came here when she was still technically under the legal age of adulthood, she's been a runaway the entire time."

"Can they do that?" Belle gasped. "I mean, regardless of my age when I arrived, I've reached the age of majority now. How can they claim I'm still here illegally?"

"Well, first of all what they're going to claim is that you're being held against your will."

"But I'm not being held against my will."

"No you're not, but you're dealing with the courts. I'm afraid the truth of the matter means very little."

"Doesn't it?"

"Not when it comes to going to court, no." This made Jefferson laugh. "Frankly, I don't think they can win. I doubt they think they will, either."

"Then what's the point?" Gold huffed. He was rapidly losing patience with this situation. Her father was clearly a damn fool and he no time for fools.

"In my opinion, they're hoping that either you'll decide she's not worth the effort," he paused and looked at Belle, "or that she'll do the noble thing and go home to spare you the trouble."

Belle flushed and glanced away, which was his first hint that she'd been considering doing exactly that.

"That's clearly not going to happen," Gold stated simply, hoping to reassure her. "She's far too important to the work I'm doing."

Belle's cheeks reddened again but this time it was with some other emotion, something along the lines of pleasure and shock.

"Well it's good to hear that," Jefferson replied. "Because unless one of you does something stupid, I honestly don't see a way for us to lose this case."

Jefferson stood to leave before continuing. "Let me know if you receive any more correspondence from them, but otherwise try not to worry overmuch, Miss French. We'll have you a free woman before you know it."

By the end of the day, Gold could see that Belle was exhausted. He had handled most of the hiring, but Belle had sat in on all the interviews and frankly had had an extraordinarily stressful day before that. He doubted she'd slept much, either. But then again, neither had he. After their conversation with Jefferson had come to a close, people from the village had started filtering in. A few candidates had to be dismissed outright, and the opening of a new lace making factory had severely limited the pool of available women, but still the turnout had been fairly good. By dinner time, they had hired a new butler, two footmen, and a gardener.

Michael, the gardener, seemed to be her favorite of the new hires. He had two children whose mother had died a year past (and Gold suspected that it was little Nicholas and Ava that Belle was really fond of rather than their father). He'd been making a decent living as a woodsman, but Gold had been able to promise more than twice his previous income and an occupation for the children as well, with the teenaged Ava finding a place in the scullery (a job that had previously been done on an as-needed basis by Ruby and which had the potential to turn into a job as a cook when she was older) and little Nicholas being able to assist his father and Graham by running errands to town and helping with the upkeep of the gardens and stables as necessary. The addition of Ava to the household solved the problem of the lady's maid. Ella had been performing most of the day to day upkeep of the house anyway due to Ruby's work in the scullery. With Ava taking over the scullery, Belle had pointed out that should she ever require the help of a lady's maid, Ruby was more than qualified to fill in. He highly doubted she'd ever really avail herself of the help, but something in him insisted on providing this little bit of care for her.

The new butler was a rather large man named Anton, who was perhaps a bit young for a butler but Gold had insisted. Belle had selected a new footman by the name of Gus, who seemed of a sweet disposition, but for the second one Gold had insisted on a young man named August Booth. August's references were spotty and he had a bit of a reputation around town as a street tough, but he had sworn up and down that he was trying to turn his life around for the sake of his ailing father, whom he had taken it on himself to support financially. Gold liked him because of his new-found dedication to giving people chances, and certainly not because the boy was known to be good in a fight with a father who he would do nearly anything for.

It was actually August's hiring that finally dropped the missing piece in the hunt for new servants into place for Belle, once she learned part of his responsibilities included sleeping in the hallway with a pistol _just in case_ an intruder happened to break in. The fact that the hallway in question was in the east wing of the house where Belle slept, rather than the west wing containing the family rooms and most everything of value was glossed over. He was hiring all these men to prevent her family from trying to steal her back.

Belle wasn't sure what to do with this new knowledge. She felt like she should insist this wasn't necessary, that he was already doing far too much for her by even going forward with the court case itself rather than kicking her out immediately. Letting him hire a team of servants just to discourage kidnapping seemed a bit overkill even for an assistant with a highly specialized skill set such as hers, but she didn't want to stop him. Something inside of her found this strangely comforting. She'd not even considered the possibility of Gaston or her father trying to bring her back forcibly before he had, but the fact that he _had_ thought of it and was now taking steps to prevent it made her feel safer somehow. She'd known all along that he cared for her, but she was beginning to wonder if his feelings didn't exceed what she'd suspected or if hers weren't perhaps beginning to skew in that direction as well. It was hard not to develop feelings for a man who would protect you when you most needed it.

Dinner had been sedate, with both of them emotionally exhausted and Granny caught up in a flurry of new servants, it had consisted of cold meat, some vegetable stew, and some purchased bread. They had barely spoken to each other, both more focused on the food and the chance for a good night of sleep than on each other. They still technically needed a housekeeper, but frankly Belle wasn't sure that they would bother. Between the small size of the household and the lack of any real company, it seemed like a butler and cook ought to be enough to manage the few servants they had. The day had been wasted for work, and she wanted nothing more than to burrow into her sheets and forget she'd ever heard the name Gaston or agreed to that gods forsaken engagement.

Unfortunately, the moment Belle's head hit her pillow she was wide awake. Her mind was running through the events of the day. She shouldn't compare Dr. Gold to Gaston, she knew. Nothing good could come of attempting to conflate her employer – a man she had kissed and run from – with a fiance. It wouldn't do to think of him like that, because thinking led to wishing which led to dangerous territory. No, she couldn't be alone with her thoughts. Reluctantly, Belle crawled back out of bed. She put a dressing gown over her nightdress and slipped out into the hallway. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well get a little work done, she reasoned.

Fortunately, August wouldn't be starting work until the next day as he needed some time to get his father situated so she didn't have to worry about rousing him as she walked through the dark house to the workroom. It hadn't occurred to her that she might find it already occupied, as he had seemed just as eager for bed as she was, but when she opened the door to find him already pouring over her research and calculations from the day before.

He glanced up, doing a double take at her state of undress, but he recovered reasonably well.

"Good evening, Miss French."

His voice was warmer than usual, or was that just her overactive brain trying to convince her of things that weren't there?

"I didn't expect you to be up," she said by way of explanation, moving to her usual space at the table. "I couldn't sleep."

"Neither could I," he replied hesitantly. "We're far too close."

She couldn't be sure what he had meant by that, whether they were too close to a breakthrough or too close to each other or too close to losing it all, or maybe all of them at once. But she understood this, understood the need for work to soothe and to bring back a sense of power in a confusing world. So she nodded by way of answer, the only one that seemed safe right now. She pulled out her notes and a pen and began to go through her stack of work.

"It all seems so exciting when you're in school," she sighed with a shake of her head. "Nobody warns you that you'll wind up sitting in an attic in your nightclothes working through theorems after midnight."

She was rewarded with a bark of laughter from him and a surprised grin on his face.

"Science, my dear, is mostly sitting in an attic working through theorems," he teased. "When you're lucky, there's a clever girl kind enough to keep you company."

She smiled at that, somehow his compliments never made her uncomfortable or put her off. They should, by all rights, make her very uncomfortable. She was alone here, after all, but something about him put her at ease. This, she realized, was the most she'd ever liked herself; when they were up in the tower working.

"And when you're unlucky?" She finally replied, her voice soft.

"When you're unlucky," he shrugged. "Whenever she's there you're always lucky."

Belle wished now more than ever that she'd not kissed him before, because she wanted to kiss him now. But she wasn't sure her courage would hold her through it, and she couldn't make a habit of kissing him in dark rooms and running away. She needed him near her more than ever, she could not risk his rejection.

And so she didn't kiss him, instead biting her lip so hard it hurt.

"She's lucky, too," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes as she spoke. "She'd not thought to find a home here and now she never wants to leave."

He looked at her curiously, hearing the quake in her voice. She didn't look away, didn't blink, did everything in her power to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks. Eventually, though, gravity betrayed her and surface tension could no longer hold them up.

"Oh Belle, don't cry." He stood, coming around to comfort her. As soon as his arm was on her back, she burst into tears in earnest and turned to tuck her face into his shoulder. She could feel the fabric becoming damp as she clung to his shirt like a lifeline and he wrapped his arms around her whispering shushing noises into her hair.

She wasn't even sure why she was crying, all the fear and stress of the past few days finally hitting her along with the realization that she was cared for and that she could find comfort in this new home if she needed it. Dr. Gold was her friend, her mentor, and her constant companion. He was the only person she'd ever met who believed full in her abilities and understood exactly what she could do. Her deepest, darkest secret was that it wasn't the threat of being forced to give up her work that terrified her – she'd lived with that fear every day of her life – she was afraid of being forced to leave him, and the realization of that scared her almost as much as the threat itself.

When she finally ran out of tears, she clung to him a little while longer sniffling and wishing there were a way to vanish from the room because crying on someone always feels like a better idea than it is until it's over and you have to face the person again afterward. She worked up enough dignity to pull away and he smiled at her and handed her a handkerchief he seemed to have summoned out of nowhere.

"I think you're overtired, dearie," he said gently, smoothing her hair down a little in the back. "Come, I'll walk you to your room."

"No really, that's not necessary," she began, but the truth was she wanted nothing more than to not leave his side.

"It's no matter, I'm exhausted myself." He rose and offered her his hand to help her up.

They walked back to her room in a strange sort of silence. Belle longed for words to say, to explain her tears and her need for him, but she didn't have them yet. She wasn't sure what she was feeling herself, so how could she explain it? And at the same time, the silence comforted her in its size and scope. The entire house slept except the pair of them. Any noise seemed like it would break the spell that midnight had woven.

All too soon they arrived at her door. They stood for a moment not touching, just looking. She should thank him, she should apologize again, she should promise to be worth everything he had done for her and everything he was doing for her. She should tell him she thought he might be the handsomest man she'd met, and that when he looked at her he made her want to work better. She wanted him to know that she'd never leave him as long as she had a choice in the matter. But she said nothing, and he said nothing. She thought he might kiss her – she hoped he would, because she wasn't sure if he would trust her if she did it again. She licked her lips in anticipation as he leaned forward, brushing his lips against her temple. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment and she suddenly felt a soft sort of exhaustion wash over her. When she glanced back up at him, he was looking at her as though he were gazing upon a holy vision or a miracle visited upon a sinner.

She wanted him to kiss her, to brush his lips to hers and let her taste him again. She knew she would not pull away this time if he pressed into her. She would welcome him into her bed. But instead of kissing her, he stepped back, giving her a stiff bow and a friendly smile.

"Try to get some sleep, Belle." He brushed a bit of hair from her face with the back of his knuckles. "Everything will look better in the morning."

She nodded silently, opening the door to her room and stepping inside. She returned to her bed and pulled the covers over her and this time, sleep came easily. And if she thought she heard the sound of a cane tapping away from her door long after she had drifted off, or had seen a shadow moving in the light under the door, it was easily chalked up to her dreams wishing it were so.


	9. Uncertainty Principle

The next few days were largely uneventful, a fact for which Gold was fairly thankful. Not that he had minded the effort put into keeping Belle with him at all, he would do everything all over again if he must, but they both seemed to find fulfillment in their work and he had hated to lose that. He wasn't sure she'd even want to stay if they lost that time together. Thankfully, the addition of new household servants hadn't significantly altered their day to day activities. Gold had extraordinarily low expectations, and since they had been getting by with so few servants anyway the addition of new ones meant the house was, if anything, running smoother regardless of a general lack of training or experience. He really had to admit that Belle had been right when she insisted the house was understaffed upon her arrival, not that he'd say that out loud but it's the thought that counts.

One thing he had insisted on, however, was keeping their previous breakfast arrangement with a buffet left for them rather than servants bringing in plates. Regardless of spending the rest of the day in her company, there was something special about breakfast before work. The time was less closely guarded and the solitude seemed to suit them. After their encounter in the workroom the night the lawsuit began, things between them had changed again. He couldn't quite put it to words, but where before their relationship had been characterized first by an intense sort of longing leading to their kiss and later by a hard-earned mutual respect, this time there was something else. The longing was back, and the respect had never left, but now he sensed something new and he feared what it meant – this growing affection he felt...he wasn't even sure what to do about it, frankly.

Sometimes he saw flashes that made him believe maybe she felt the same, but that was too much to hope for. Besides, she had made her desires quite clear and his place in her life was as a mentor, the man who enabled her to live her dream and nothing more. He should put such thoughts out of his head, he had his own plans for the future as well and they had never included a woman, no matter how well she seemed to fit in them.

So they shared breakfasts and a workroom, but he couldn't bring himself to ask – or hope – for more.

"You have a letter from your son," she said at breakfast one morning a few days after their initial meeting with Jefferson. "Also one from Mr. Jefferson, I opened that one already though."

"And what does he have to say about the case?" he asked, taking a seat and the proffered letter from his son.

"He says things are progressing much as he suspected, and that there's nothing to worry about. He'll keep us abreast of any new developments, though, and to be prepared for them to escalate once they realize we intend to fight."

"They can escalate things all they like, if it goes to the local courts I'm the largest landowner in town and Jefferson is the best solicitor."

"That is precisely what he said as well," Belle smiled at him and winked. "Now, what does Bae have to say?"

He scanned the letter, it was a fairly short note (though that was to be expected from a thirteen-year-old enjoying himself) and he seemed to be happy.

"He's having a good time, making friends," he chuckled, "the headmistress seems to be a stickler for the rules but he's not had any run-ins with her yet."

"Someday you're going to have to tell me about this favor she owed you." Belle reminded with a grin.

"Nothing spectacular, I was acquainted with her mother and gave Regina a recommendation for school," he said idly as he continued scanning the letter. "This was, of course, before my reputation became quite so..._questionable_. She wasn't quite as clever as you, but clever enough to become a teacher at any rate. It seems that she took to it."

Belle said nothing to this, merely hummed in her throat. He felt his lips turn up into a smile as he glanced at her, it was so easy to imagine her as a permanent fixture here. Nothing but breakfasts and letters from his son and easy conversation. It would be so easy to love her, if he dared to risk it.

As he darted his eyes back to the note, he reached the purpose of Bae's letter and nearly choked on his tea.

"Is everything alright?" she looked over anxiously, clearly concerned.

"No, no it's fine. He's fine," he glanced over at her before continuing, "he was actually writing because he forgot that he had promised to escort you to the harvest festival this coming week and wanted to apologize for leaving."

"Oh is that all?" She giggled a little. "You can, of course, let him know I completely understand and hope he's having a wonderful time."

"He also begs me to take his place."

Her face flashed a look of mild shock before her finishing school education was able to recover, her features setting back into something resembling calm. He understood, it was one thing to work together and even for her to live in his house while they did so, but going out into the world with each other was a different beast altogether. The very idea made everything between them feel so very, very real.

He looked over at Belle, wondering if there was a way to tell her there was no need for them to go without making it sound like _he_ didn't want to go. Really, nothing could be further from the truth. He did want to go, he would never have even dared to imagine it but now that he had he found himself transfixed by the idea. Belle watching the bonfire, Belle drinking cider, Belle's face flushed from dancing. He couldn't ever dance with her, but he imagined her in a swirl of skirts anyway, most of the dances done at these things were fast paced, spinning things where nobody really had the same partner for any significant amount of time. He would like watching that. And then, after the dancing maybe she'd find him in his quiet corner, panting for breath and giddy from drink and she'd thank him for bringing her and look up at him with berry pink lips begging to be kissed and...his thoughts had rapidly become inappropriate for the table.

Belle, thankfully, hadn't noticed his preoccupation as she was rather fixated on her eggs. It took him a moment to gather himself enough to be able to attempt a conversation to try to extricate himself gently from this.

"Do you often go to the festival?" She ventured.

He jumped a bit, not really expecting her to speak, nor that particular question.

"Not really," he shrugged. "I took Bae when he was very small, but the last few years he's gone on his own." He hadn't wanted to face the questions that inevitably would come about his work and his ex-wife, so he had hidden. He wasn't sure he wanted Belle to see him with others, he was a different man with her than he was with strangers, a better man. He was afraid of her loathing this other version of him.

"Well," she replied, "there's really no need to go. It was Bae's idea. I think he just wanted the company." She said the last part conspiratorially, and he felt a twinge of guilt. Of course Bae had wanted company, the child had been alone more often than not. He didn't want to make that mistake again.

"Still, though," he finally said, "if you'd like to go perhaps it's time the neighbors became used to me."

"I doubt anyone could become used to you," she teased. "And anyway, I'd hate to put you off your work anymore than I already have. We've lost enough time this week already."

"The machine will wait," he said. She wanted to go, he realized. She wanted to go but she didn't want him to go without wanting to as well. "The festival is only once a year, and it's high time you met the neighborhood I suppose."

"Well," she still sounded nervous, "if you're very sure the delay won't cause a problem."

"It's no problem," he reassured her. "It's not a problem at all."

What in five hells had he been thinking?

It was torment enough sitting there with her every day, letting her smile at his quips and make idle conversation over dinner. Now he wanted to take her out into the world and let her see how poorly he measured up to literally every other gentleman in town? Maybe the neighbors were right and he _had_ gone insane.

But she'd been so damnably happy, and he'd wanted to make her happy. He'd have eaten nails if she'd asked him to, and the fact that Bae had been the one to request it had only made it more imperative for him to escort her to this damn village festival.

Still, though, when the day arrived he was surprised at how excited she really was as she descended the stairs the afternoon of the occasion. Belle had clearly made use of Ruby for what, as far as he could tell, was the first time since she had been given the job. Rather than Belle's usual long braid draped down her back, her hair was piled up in a mass of curls and pinned underneath a wide brimmed straw hat. It was her dress, though, that left him speechless. Where she usually wore skirts and high-necked blouses – things she could take on and off easily, things that were practical in a workroom – she had instead opted for an ankle length day dress of a pale blue lace over a lining. There seemed to be some sort of sorcery in her undergarments, which had her breasts pressed high up on her chest and accentuated by a neckline that sat rather low and wide, exposing a swath of skin that he most certainly should _not_ be looking at. The dress flared out at her hips into a wide skirt that moved hypnotically around her as she walked. A wide ribbon in a slightly darker shade of blue tied around her waist, emphasizing her curves.

She paused a few stairs above him, smile firmly in place as she swayed playfully from side-to-side, letting her skirts flow around her. He stared at her, feeling his brain fizzle at how enticing she looked. She watched him for a little while as he gawked like a dumbstruck youth. He was dimly aware of how inappropriate he was being, but couldn't quite tear his eyes away.

"I...uhh..." he stammered, trying desperately to find something to excuse his behavior. "You look lovely, my dear."

He wasn't sure what he expected her to do, but he definitely hadn't expected her to raise her eyebrows in an expression of pleasure and give him a quick curtsey.

"I could say the same of you," she replied, stepping down from her perch above him on the stairs and taking his proffered arm.

He highly doubted that, he was wearing a frock coat over a waistcoat and shirt similar to the ones he wore every day, there was absolutely nothing special about him at all.

Due to the festival, the servants had all been given the rest of the day off. The younger ones had unanimously decided to attend as well, while Granny and Anton would remain at the house. Graham would bring Belle and Gold in the carriage and bring them home, but otherwise he was also free to use the night as he saw fit. Everyone in town was excited for what the evening would bring, and yet Gold just couldn't escape the blind panic that threatened to consume him at the thought of all the many ways he could ruin things.

He managed to get her into and out of the carriage without incident, which was already better than he had anticipated faring. However, his streak of good luck came to a screeching halt immediately afterward, when, on approaching the group of villagers milling around, he very nearly tripped over a little blonde projectile that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

He smothered a curse as the child slammed into him at full force. She fairly well bounced off of him and into Belle, who caught her by her shoulders as the girl stumbled. She was a little thing, maybe 8 years old, and wearing a pretty white dress that marked her as being the child of someone of wealth. In short, she should have been supervised.

"Where are your parents?" he tried to control the venom in his voice but was not entirely successful. Fortunately, the child seemed unaffected. Belle however, looked at him curiously but said nothing.

"I've escaped," the little girl said by way of explanation. Glancing around for whomever her caretaker was, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "They said I couldn't have any of the punch, but I escaped and now I'm going to get some."

He nearly guffawed at that. The punch at this event was notoriously volatile, with a local tradition of random people surreptitiously adding various spirits to it throughout the evening, what began as a fruit juice mixture would end the night as a horrible concoction of liquors more suited for stripping paint off of walls than drinking.

"That punch is not a drink for little girls, dearie," he chided. She made a face at him and he found himself liking the child in spite of everything, she was a spirited girl if nothing else and he could appreciate that in a lady.

"Who are your parents?" Belle inquired, attempting to steer the conversation towards a more useful end.

"Who are yours?" the child retorted, leaving Belle a little flustered.

Belle looked at him with a desperate expression on her face as if asking if he had any idea who the girl was. He gave a shrug, he rarely socialized in the village and even when he did, little girls weren't really in his circle of acquaintances.

"What's your name?" he tried, deciding to assist Belle a little.

"Emma Nolan," she said with a quick curtsey, obviously remembering her manners that much.

"Ah, Nolan." Nolan he knew by reputation, at least. David Nolan wasn't a local boy, but he had settled here after marrying Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard, the mayor's daughter. Leopold Blanchard was a decent enough sort, and by all accounts quite devoted to his only daughter who had apparently raised a small hooligan. Belle still looked confused, so took pity on her again. "She's the mayor's granddaughter," he supplied.

Belle looked down at Emma, who had the surly look back on her face at being recognized.

"That still doesn't answer the question of what we should do with her," she sounded exasperated and he found himself delighted by this. She was always so patient with him and Bae, it hadn't occurred to him that she'd find a little girl so difficult to handle.

Fortunately, before Emma could launch another escape, a well-dressed younger man dashed over to them.

"Emma!" he exclaimed, "thank gods I found you. You scared your mother, you know." The last part was meant to be scolding, but he was clearly so relieved to have found the girl that he didn't quite manage to put the force into it that would make it so.

"Mr. Nolan, I presume?" Gold said, extending his hand. Nolan took it, shaking it vigorously.

"Yes," he replied, "please call me David. And you are?"

"I'm Dr. Gold," Gold ducked his head politely, if he had hoped to impress Belle with his ability to socialize then Mr. Nolan was a good enough place to start. "And this is my assistant, Miss Belle French."

"Oh, Dr. Gold! Yes, of course." Nolan pried Emma out of Belle's grasp, holding her shoulders tight to prevent another mad dash across the fair grounds. "My father-in-law has mentioned you. And Miss French, a pleasure to meet you."

He could tell from Nolan's face that the man was wondering to himself about the sort of woman who would willingly socialize with the local beast, but he was the sort who had an easy charm that could gloss over most social faux pas. Gold disliked him instantly.

"The pleasure is mine," Belle said with a quick curtsey. "We're just pleased your lovely daughter is safe."

"Papa, can I _please_ have some punch?" Emma wheedled.

"Emma, we've discussed this. This isn't like the punch at grandpa's parties."

Emma's response was a high pitched whine and a pout.

"Oh thank goodness, Emma!" a dark haired woman said, arriving on the scene as though summoned by the unholy noises emanating from the girl. Gold recognized her as Mary Margaret, the mayor's daughter and the mother of the hell-beast currently causing mayhem.

"Mary Margaret!" David was apparently committed to maintaining some sort of manners in this whole farcical situation. "Dr. Gold, Miss French, may I present my wife, Mary Margaret Nolan? Mary Margaret, this is Dr. Gold and his assistant, Miss French."

"Oh Dr. Gold!" Mary Margaret actually managed to sound pleased to meet them. "It's been a long time since I've seen you at a festival!" She shot a quelling glance at Emma, "Emma, honey, stop that."

At her mother's voice, Emma finally quieted, clinging tight to her father's hand as she leaned away from him forcing him to hold her up lest she fall flat on her face in the dirt. Her ability to quiet the girl endeared Mary Margaret to Gold more than nearly anything else she could have said or done.

"Yes," he said with a small smile. "My work keeps me very busy."

"That's good," she replied, "very good. And Miss French, when did you come to town?" she added, turning her gaze to Belle.

"Just a few months ago," Belle said sweetly, smile clearly pasted onto her face. "Dr. Gold placed an ad for an assistant with my university, and since I had recently finished my studies so the timing was perfect."

"Oh how lovely!" Mary Margaret was evidently one of those people who was perpetually cheerful, even as the wheels in her head were turning trying to decipher the exact nature of the relationship between himself and Belle.

"Well," he wasn't going to stand here and let the Nolan's call Belle's virtue into question even in their minds. "This has been fun, but we really must be going. It's been a pleasure meeting you Mr. Nolan, Mrs. Nolan, Emma."

He placed his hand on Belle's back leading her away from the small group. As they left, he heard Emma's high-pitched voice take up her pleas for just one taste of the punch again. _That should keep them too busy to speculate_, at least, he thought mean-spiritedly.

"That was abrupt," Belle said softly as he steered her towards the tables selling refreshments. "But thank you for getting me away. I'm not good with children."

"You're good enough with them," he said with a shrug, "maybe not with that particular child but I've seen small floods easier to handle than that child."

He was rewarded when Belle let out a quite unladylike snort.

"Was Bae that bad when he was her age?" she asked hesitantly, as though she were afraid of the answer.

He mulled it over for a moment, certainly there had been times he was sure the boy was going to grow up to join a pack of wolves and roam the countryside terrorizing travelers but it hadn't ever prevented him from thinking his son was perfect, either.

"I think," he said finally, "that when it's your child you adjust to their behavior. So when he was eight, I was used to an eight-year-old which was a damn sight better than a seven-year-old, and I was happy with that. Now that he's nearly thirteen, I'm not used to eight-year-olds anymore, much less ones that are so..." he let his voice trail off, trying to find an appropriate euphemism for _annoying._

"Opinionated?" Belle supplied, her face the absolute picture of innocence.

He looked at her, realizing that she had found this entire interaction as exhausting as he had. She had never been more beautiful.

"Now," she said after a silence that went on just a tad too long, "I'm afraid I'm going to need to try some of this punch. I've heard excellent things about it."

This time he couldn't control the laughter.

The punch may or may not have been a good idea, he hadn't quite decided yet. It was hard to begrudge her the experience, but he was fairly sure she was quite intoxicated by now. He'd had a few himself, and swayed unsteadily on his feet. Belle, however, had joined the dancers around the fire and was currently dancing with more enthusiasm than skill, her hair having fallen out of its pins a long time ago and her hat lost gods only knew where sometime around sunset. It was everything his fevered imagination had thought it might be, her face was flush with unbridled joy as she spun around more or less in time with the music. He hadn't planned for how much he'd have liked to join her, but that was probably whatever the hell had made its way into the drinks talking.

When had she gotten so pretty, anyway? Had she always been _so_ pretty? She'd always been pretty, but something about the firelight and the curls cascading down around her shoulders made her extra pretty. He should tell her, he resolved. She definitely should know. He would tell her, too, if only the ground wasn't tilting quite so...tiltily.

He blinked hard, trying to force his eyes to focus on Belle and the other dancers, but his vision was swimming and maybe sitting down would be a good idea. Luckily, nobody else was sitting where he was standing so that was a good enough place. He had a tree he could lean his back against and a good view of what was going on and everyone else was far too interested in their drinks or their dancing or their kissing to pay him much mind. Yes, sitting had been an excellent idea. He should do that more often. He stretched his legs out in front of him, scanning the dancers again for Belle. He finally found her, just as the dancers switched to a slower song. He recognized this tune, but didn't know the words. Something about an unrequited lover whose true love marries another, leaving the singer to wander the moors.

He pushed down a wave of jealousy (or possibly nausea, he really should have reconsidered the punch) as he saw a couple men make their way over to Belle, presumably to ask for a dance. She gave each one a shake of the head before swaying over to him. He imagined that, had she been a little more sober, the effect would have been fairly seductive. However, as she nearly tripped a twice on her way over and both times erupted in a fit of giggles after catching herself, it was more endearing than arousing.

He'd reached the level of drunkenness where exhaustion began to overwhelm him. Maybe sitting hadn't been such a good idea after all, but at least his tree was still comfortable. He watched through half-lidded eyes as she plopped gracelessly down onto the ground next to him.

"I am having a _wonderful_ time!" she exclaimed, brushing a piece of hair back from her face.

He wanted to reach out and touch her, to play with the hair that he'd never seen loose, but the effort of lifting his arm seemed suddenly a herculean task.

"I can see that," he replied dully, "you looked beautiful dancing."

This earned him a bleary-eyed smile as she drew little patterns into the dirt with her finger.

"Will you dance with me?" she asked suddenly.

"I can't," he answered, unconsciously moving his bad leg.

"Oh, I thought since it was a slow song it might be alright." Her hand was now on his thigh, inches away from his cock. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to remove it or move it closer. He felt himself twitch and prayed she wouldn't notice.

"It's not my leg, dearie," he whispered, "I'm just not sure I can stand up right now. Otherwise yes, I would dance with you."

She gave him one of her mysterious little smiles, the ones that crinkled her eyes and made him think maybe she saw him the same way he saw her.

"Perhaps you should dance with one of your other admirers," he added, nodding towards the group of young men who stood at the edge of the dancers, drinking and laughing and occasionally tossing looks their way. Belle made a face, avoiding looking at them.

"I'd rather stay with you," she confided, scooting herself closer.

He grinned, watching her sway just a little. She was so damned drunk, but then, so was he. He rallied his energy and reached his hand up, combing his fingers gently through her hair. She closed her eyes and let him play with her curls, wrapping them around his fingers, fascinated by the color contrast between his skin and her hair. She was beyond lovely, and she preferred his company to anyone else here. The drunken revelation gave him some confidence, and he cupped her chin in his hand and lightly brushed his thumb across her softly parted lips. She gasped at that and opened her eyes, threatening to drown him in their blue.

He pulled her face towards him, just a little, leaning forward a bit and feeling some satisfaction when she went the rest of the way herself, falling forward and catching herself with her hands on either side of his hips to support her weight as she leaned against him. She pressed her lips to his and he seized her mouth, slanting over her lips but not making any move to press his tongue into her mouth. This kiss was different than the last, gentler, less an invitation than a promise. He wrapped his arms around her back and held her tight, not wanting to let her go but also knowing that the public fair grounds was hardly the place to drunkenly debauch her and also lacking the energy to go any further.

When he finally broke the kiss, she was studying him so intently he could barely stand it and he was afraid of what she might find if she kept looking. He was old enough to be her father, he was lame, he was half-mad, he was unbelievably drunk, he was completely in love with her.

He wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her against his side so she couldn't see him anymore, resting his cheek on the top of her head. She didn't resist, instead cuddling into him and placing her hand across his midsection.

"Why do we do this?" she whispered and he wasn't sure if she was asking him or herself, but he answered anyway.

"I don't know, Belle. I really don't." He sighed. "I should have made you leave, I'm sorry."

"Do you want me to?" she asked, and was that hurt he heard in her voice?

"No," he kissed the top of her head, "gods no. I don't know what I'd do without you."

_I love you, I've loved you since the moment you corrected my math. I'd rip my own eyes out to spare you a moment's pain. Stay with me._

"I don't know what I'd do if I left," her voice was soft and raw, "nobody else has ever been so good to me, nobody else has ever been so patient or respectful or kind. Nobody else has ever thought I could do real work."

"You're brilliant, Belle. If nobody else ever took the time to notice, that's their loss and not yours."

_I've never wanted anyone the way I've wanted you. I'd do anything you ever asked of me. I've never met anyone who was your equal in any way._

"I could love you," her voice was sleepy now, far away, and he wasn't sure if he was dreaming it or if either of them would even remember this conversation come morning. "I could love you. It would be the easiest thing in the world."

"But?" He was afraid of her answer, but he knew he'd never be able to live with himself if he didn't know.

"But I'm frightened." She shifted slightly, her cheek now pressed against his shoulder and her entire body tucked against his. "I'm afraid of losing myself in you. I've worked so hard to be able to do this kind of work, I just didn't know I'd want you, too." She yawned, slurring her words worse than ever, and he knew she would drift off soon. "I don't know which I want more or if I can even have both. I'm sorry."

The last syllable faded away and the faint snoring against his chest told him that it was too late for questions.

He sat against the tree for a long, long time. The night air had a hint of a chill to it, but she never stirred and he couldn't bring himself to move her. Belle could love him. Belle could _love_ him. Belle could love _him._ No matter how he ran that fact through his drunken brain, he could make neither heads nor tails of it. It flew in the face of all logic and reason. He had known for weeks now that she didn't want to marry, and having met her fiance he could understand her fear.

She had lived her life afraid of being a wife and wanting to only be _Belle_. Brilliant, beautiful, clever, eager, brave Belle. She had no way of knowing if a husband could or would understand that. She was awkward with children, but she seemed to like them well enough when they weren't acting like hellions (and, to be perfectly fair, parents didn't like their children when they were hellions, either). She feared marriage and children the way a man might fear a prison sentence, things that would rip her away from all she'd ever loved in her life. She had no way of knowing he'd never expect her to quit, or that he _had_ found joy in his son as a small boy, or that he had no problems with children in the workroom if she didn't. She didn't know that he'd prefer to find a companion in a wife rather than a housekeeper. She was so smart, so clever, and so unprepared for this to have happened. He wished more than anything that he could shake her awake and explain everything, but she was asleep and he was so very tired himself. Perhaps in the morning. Yes, he would definitely tell her all of this come morning...

He awoke early the next day to the feeling of something pushing against his good leg. Cracking his eyes open, he saw the first fingers of daylight outlining the silhouette of Graham standing over him with his hands on his hips and an amused look on his face. He was still holding Belle against his chest and leaning against the tree and his head felt like someone had stepped on it.

"Is something funny?" he croaked out. His voice felt like sandpaper on his throat. How much had he had to drink and what the hell had been put in that punch this year?

"I was just wondering if you'd like to get the lady home before the entire town sees you sprawled out together."

He'd have appreciated it if Graham would keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but he also appreciated not talking and so he didn't say anything. Instead, Gold grunted in reply and shook Belle softly, whispering into her hair until she stirred a little.

"Wake up, dear," he said. "We need to go home."

"Oh," she muttered, climbing to her feet with Graham's help. Gold located his cane and got himself into a mostly upright position. All around them he could see the last remaining drunks passed out around the lawn. Fortunately, most of them would be too far gone to know or care that he had spent the night with Belle wrapped around him, and it would hardly be the first time this sort of thing had happened at one of these things anyway. Still, he'd prefer not bringing shame onto her by association with him, or the implication that things between them were inappropriate. They had very carefully avoided nearly every temptation, and he didn't want to sully her reputation any further than he already had.

By the time they reached the house, Belle had fallen back asleep in the carriage and had to be carried up to her room.

"Fetch Ruby," Gold instructed Graham sleepily, "and have her put Miss French to rights and then leave her in bed to sleep it off."

Sleeping it off sounded like a brilliant idea, actually, and he looked forward to doing just that. The last thoughts to carry him into sleep were of Belle French, her auburn hair draped across her pillow as he wrapped himself around her and let her body heat lull him into a comfortable sleep.

Belle _could_ love him...


	10. Objects in Motion

When Belle awoke the next day, the sun was already high in the sky. The previous night was a bit of a blur, she remembered drinking far too much, she remembered dancing around the bonfire until her hat had become tedious and casting it into the flames, but everything after that was just flashes of images and a vague sense of regret. Her head ached fiercely, and she wished the curtains around the bed were closed so she could keep sleeping, but her stomach was unsettled and she had slept too long already. She groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position, realizing immediately that that had been a bad idea.

She moved quickly to the edge of the bed, gratefully finding a chamber pot somebody must have left for he the night before, and emptying the contents of her stomach into it. Sitting back once she was done, she noticed a pitcher of water and an empty glass had also been left out. Belle would seriously consider kissing whomever had thought to leave those things for her, were she sure that would not end with her vomiting again. She rinsed her mouth out before taking a cautious sip of the water. The noise must have alerted Ruby she was awake, or else the girl had been checking on her regularly, as the door opened quietly and the familiar smiling face peeked in at her.

"Oh good, you're finally up!" Ruby chirped, the sound making Belle visibly cringe. "How are you feeling?"

"Everything hurts and I wish I were dead," Belle groaned, cradling her head in her hands and praying to any god willing to hear her that it wasn't going to actually split open.

"You'll be fine," Ruby replied, obviously trying to keep the amusement out of her voice and failing. "How was your night last night?"

"I never want to drink that much again," Belle forced out, her stomach churning and sending her back over the bed for the chamber pot.

"If everyone who ever said that really stopped, these festivals would be a lot less interesting," Ruby said, sitting next to Belle on her bed and pulling her hair back off her face, "anyway, from what I hear you weren't complaining last night. Gods, your hair is a mess. I wish I'd been able to do something with it last night, but by the time I got to you it was already too tangled to deal with while you were in that state."

"Ruby," Belle said, trying hard to maintain some semblance of calm despite her rising panic and nausea. "What exactly happened last night?"

"You don't remember?!" Ruby would have sounded worried if she didn't sound so amused as she stared at her, "you really _were_ drunk, weren't you?"

"I remember bits and pieces of it, but I feel like I might be missing something fairly important."

"I wasn't there," Ruby began, "but Graham said that when he went looking for you and Dr. Gold around dawn, you were both asleep curled up under a tree. Together."

"How together?"

"His arms were around you and your head was on his chest." Ruby shrugged.

Oh, oh no. This was...this was beyond anything she had imagined. It was utter and absolute ruination. She had slept curled up around a man – _in public –_ while passed out drunk. There was absolutely no way she would ever show her face in the village again. It would have been scandalous for a married woman to kiss her husband the way Belle had kissed Dr. Gold, but for an unmarried woman to kiss a man like that without even an engagement marked her as a woman of loose morals. She was now effectively cast out from society.

"Oh Ruby, what am I going to do?" The more she thought about it, the more that kept coming back to her. She remembered her hand on his thigh, she remembered him pulling her in for a kiss. She remembered other things, too. But which parts had she said out loud and which ones had she just thought? It felt like trying to remember a dream after waking, she knew the gist of it but the details kept changing. Oh please, she prayed to any god who could save her, please let him have forgotten as well.

"The first thing you're going to do," Ruby said, suddenly maternal in a way that made Belle want to cling to her and sob, "is sit here while I fetch you some tea and breakfast. All you've had since yesterday afternoon is liquor, and you need to eat. After that, you're going to sit here while I fix your hair and while I do that we will figure out the rest."

Belle initially rejected the idea of eating, but after a little tea and toast she was suddenly famished. She polished off a plate of bacon and eggs and sausage, and even one of her favorite jam pastries, before finally feeling done.

"So what do you remember from last night, anyway?" Ruby asked as she began tentatively combing out Belle's hair, which now resembled nothing so much as a giant bird's nest.

"I don't really know," she admitted, "it's coming back to me in bits and pieces. I remember dancing with strangers. I remember becoming tired and finding Dr. Gold. I remember we talked and...he may have said I was pretty? And then he kissed me, I know he did that because I remember I wanted him to. Then I just don't know. I remember thinking things and talking, but I don't know which things I was saying and which I was just thinking."

Ruby muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Ella owes me four coppers' but Belle didn't ask her to repeat herself, instead deciding she much preferred not to know.

"Well," Ruby finally said after a long silence, "what might you have told him?"

"I might have told him I loved him."

Ruby's hand stilled in Belle's hair, just for a moment but long enough to tell Belle that Ruby hadn't expected this.

"And do you love him?" came the reply.

"I don't know," Belle admitted. "I've never really loved a man before, I'm not entirely sure what it's supposed to feel like."

"Oh honey," Ruby said, setting down her comb and beginning to braid Belle's hair, "you'll know it when you feel it. There's nothing anyone can tell you that will make it any more clear than that, trust me."

Belle distracted herself by sipping on her cup of tea as Ruby finished her hair in silence. Her thoughts were running too fast to keep up, it took all her focus just to keep them in some sort of order. Her quiet contemplation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Ella entered and gave Belle a quick pitying look before speaking.

"Beg your pardon, Miss, but the doctor sent me to fetch you," her eyes slid nervously between Ruby and Belle, "you have...visitors."

Oh gods, she could not handle this right now. She suddenly felt very tired again, she was still unsure about the situation with Dr. Gold and now to have to face whatever her jilted fiance wanted to throw at her just felt like more than she could bear. Still, though, she couldn't very well hide up here forever and force him to fight her battles for her. With a weary sigh, she climbed out of bed and prepared to face the rest of the day.

Gold turned as he heard the door to the parlour open, thankfully admitting Miss French and not more of her blasted family members. He was currently playing host to both her jilted fiance and her father, as well as their solicitor, a Mr. Sydney Glass, and Dr. Archibald Hopper whose presence had not yet been fully explained to him. Graham had, of course, immediately been sent to fetch Jefferson just to round out this festival of fools. Nobody spoke, instead they stared each other down. The only one seeming uncomfortable with this arrangement was Dr. Hopper, who squirmed uncomfortably whenever anyone's eyes came to rest on him.

At Belle's arrival, however, the assembled rose to greet her. He felt a swell of pride when her eyes immediately fixed on him, a smile of genuine pleasure settling across her features. She could love him, he reminded himself. They just had to get through this, and well, he'd figure that out later. But he had no intention of letting her go.

Belle made to walk toward him, but was interrupted by her father drawing her attention towards him.

"Belle!" Lord Maurice gasped, rushing over towards his daughter excitedly.

"Papa?" Belle sounded somewhere between pleased and terrified, her eyes going wide as he swept her into a tight hug. She stiffened, but relaxed a bit and wrapped her arms around her father, letting him hold her for a bit.

"Papa, why are you here?" she said once he had released her and everyone else had returned to their seats.

"I'm here to take you home, my girl," Lord Maurice replied, still holding Belle's arms affectionately.

"That's not going to happen," she stated simply, pulling away from him and moving towards the divan that Gold was seated on slowly, as though afraid any sudden movements would cause him to realize she was fleeing. "I'm happy here, Papa. I don't want to leave."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, clearly not entirely sure his daughter could have decided on a course of action without him.

"It's not ridiculous," she was being far more patient than Gold thought he could have mustered in her situation as she sank into the seat next to him carefully. "I chose to come here, I'm choosing to stay."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Lord Maurice replied, slightly less petulantly than Gold would have imagined, and sat in his formerly abandoned armchair facing the two. "Belle, darling, I'm just trying to do what's best for you."

Belle's jaw dropped, and he saw her trying to work out a response but she seemed a bit too flabbergasted to make any kind of response.

"I'm fairly sure," Gold interjected, "that Miss French is more than capable of deciding her own fate without either of our interference."

Maurice sputtered a bit, but Belle's entire posture seemed to relax, and she looked at him like she had the day he caught her when she fell – as though he were the answer to a prayer she'd barely dared to say.

Fortunately, whatever other indignity Maurice felt like heaping on his daughter was cut off by the well-timed entrance of Jefferson who tipped his hat to the assembled.

"Sorry I'm late," he said with a forced smile. "My invitation to the party seems to have been lost in the mail."

"Ah, Mr. Jefferson." Sydney Glass seemed less than thrilled at this new arrival, which pleased Gold to no end. "At last we can begin."

"Yes," Jefferson replied, taking a seat in a chair near to Gold and Belle. "Now would you like to inform me of the purpose of this meeting? And why the good doctor is here?"

"My client is concerned for the welfare of his daughter," Mr. Glass said with a calculating smile. "She's been captive in this house for months now. There's no telling what tragedies may have befallen her."

Belle's shocked gasp was the only thing that prevented Gold from actually punching the other man. He was struggling to keep his temper down, but it was increasingly more difficult the more he learned of her father.

"I can assure you," Jefferson began, his voice completely calm (which was more than anyone else in the room probably could have managed, and for that Gold was grateful), "that Miss French has been treated with the utmost consideration during her work with Dr. Gold."

"I wish that were good enough," Maurice said, "but Belle, gods only know what's been going on..."

"What my client means to say," Mr. Glass interrupted, "is that we heard rumors of some very disturbing behavior witnessed between the two."

"Such as?" Gold let his voice become low and dangerous, if they were going to sit here and impugn his honor and Belle's virtue, he was not going to sit idly by and let it happen.

"There were some insinuations of inappropriate behavior last night, for example," Mr. Glass said simply. "We have witnesses."

Gold had no response to that, because it was true. They had blurred the lines of respectability to the point that it was no longer a question the night before of whether their relationship was improper, it was a question of whether she was completely ruined.

"Regardless," he finally bit out. "I can assure you that your daughter is hale and healthy."

Belle probably would have had something to add to the discussion, were she not busily preparing herself a cup of tea and looking like she would die of embarrassment given half a chance.

"We just need to know for sure," Maurice continued. "That's why we brought Dr. Hopper. Tell him, Sydney."

"What Lord Maurice means," Mr. Glass continued, "is that we just ask that the young lady submit to an examination. To determine if anything...improper has happened."

"Improper?!" Gold leapt to his feet and stalked around the divan, pacing to relieve some of his agitation before he exploded. "To determine if she's intact is what you mean."

Now it was Maurice's turn to look affronted and sputter.

"There's a lady present!" This was Gaston, the young fool. Gold wondered how much of this was his idea or if he was just going along with suggestions. How could he want someone who clearly didn't want him? Or was it just about her money and position in society?

"A lady whom you are insinuating is of loose moral character," Gold reminded. "You're the ones who are implying it, don't get angry with me for not beating around the bush."

"Perhaps it would be best if we came back another time..." Dr. Hopper looked queasy at the prospect of what he was being asked to do.

"There will not be another time," Belle said, her voice steady. "I am not going to consent to an examination of _any_ kind – most especially that. Papa, how could you?"

"I don't have a choice, my girl," Maurice was near begging now, but Gold felt no sympathy. "You were gone and I've heard such things, and you won't return...what else am I to think?"

"You're to think that I'm a grown woman who can make her own decisions."

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice," Mr. Glass said calmly, "we can come back with a subpoena if we need."

"There won't be a subpoena," Jefferson chuckled. "Good luck getting any judge to agree to an invasion of that magnitude."

"Once they hear what my witnesses have to say, you might be surprised what I can get signed, especially with a lord of the realm making the complaints on behalf of his daughter."

"What witnesses?" Gold wanted to know who he had to skin alive.

"More than a few, and I could get more if I needed them I assure you." Mr. Glass was completely calm to the point that Gold wanted to throttle him. How could he sit here and propose what he was proposing and still be so damned calm?

Belle looked at him, she was so helpless. One of the most intelligent people he'd ever met, and she was completely helpless here – reduced to a pretty bauble for men to fight over and desperate for him to save her. This wasn't right, and he had only one way to save her.

"She won't consent, and she doesn't have to," he ground out slowly, placing his hands on the divan behind Belle protectively. He needed to make sure he chose his next works carefully. "Because I would marry her before I let her be forced into this."

The assembled room went completely silent, with the exception of the sound of Belle's teacup clattering to the floor.

"I'm right, aren't I?" he said, glancing at Jefferson. "If I married her, they would have no grounds to file a lawsuit on her behalf."

"That's right," Jefferson said slowly, "husband trumps father, legally. They would be attempting to separate a man from his lawful wife, no judge in the world would go along with it."

"So there you have it," Gold said, straightening and fixing Maurice with a long hard glare. "This insanity continues only as long as she wants it to, because if she says the word we can bring the whole thing to an end."

"Belle..." Maurice had gone deathly pale, as though contemplating for the first time that his daughter might have options and allies beyond him. "Belle, what would your mother think?"

"I think it's time for you to leave, Papa," Belle said solemnly. "I am quite out of energy for dealing with you today."

They sat like that for an awkwardly long moment, before Mr. Glass regained his thoughts.

"I can see we're just about done here," he fixed Gold with a long stare, "for now."

Gathering up his clients and his physician, the assembled made their way out of the parlour. As soon as the door closed behind them, Gold slumped into one of the armchairs.

"Brilliant move with the marriage proposal," Jefferson congratulated, "I couldn't have planned it better myself. I doubt they'll try anything this desperate again."

"I'm just sorry they tried it this time." Gold glanced over at Belle who was being uncharacteristically silent and staring fairly hard at her teacup. "Are you alright, my dear?"

"I...it's...it's chipped," she sounded near tears. "I'm sorry. I chipped it."

"I'll be on my way, then," Jefferson said, leaping to his feet. "I do have other clients, and you two clearly have a lot to discuss. Do let me know if they return."

And he was out the door before either could say a word to him, leaving them alone.

"Belle," Gold began, moving back to the divan he had just vacated and plucking the teacup from her hands, "it's just a cup. It'll be alright."

Sure enough, the once-pristine cup was now scarred with a large rectangular chip taken out of the lip.

"Are you alright?" He was becoming worried, this wasn't like her. She wasn't prone to hysterics and she would barely speak to him. He set the cup on the table and tilted her head up. Tears were very visibly running down her cheeks, and the red rimming her eyes just made them look even more blue. "Oh Belle, it will be fine."

He wrapped his arms around her, hauling her to him and letting her cry onto his shoulder again.

"I know," she said, her voice steadier than he would have thought. "I know you won't let them take me. It's just...how could he do that to me?"

"I don't know," it wasn't good enough, "I really don't."

"I'm his daughter, and he basically called me a whore. He tried to overrule my every decision, he implied I didn't know my own mind." She sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes. "You're the only one who stood up for me," she was looking at him like _that_ again and he couldn't quite reconcile the awe he saw in her face with the reality of him. "You said you'd marry me so they'd leave me alone."

"Yes, about that." That was one of the many fantasies he never intended to let her know about, "I'm...not proposing or anything, Belle. You have to understand that. It was the only way to make them leave, I'd not impose on you that way."

"I know," her voice was becoming stronger as she spoke, full of anger and indignation. "I know you wouldn't. But everyone else _would_. How can they pretend like I don't know what I want or where I want to be? Or who I want to be with? My own father..." her voice trailed off, the word 'father' uttered like a curse.

Gold had no answer for her, and wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that she hadn't taken it as a proposal. He hadn't meant it as one, but if she'd taken it, well, at least that would have let him know where he stood with her.

"This is going to be a miserable case, isn't it?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, "I can't imagine it will be pleasant for you, especially after last night. And they're clearly willing to fight dirty.

"You know," she was calmer now, "I barely even remember last night."

He tried to keep the disappointment off of his face, but it was a bit of a blow to be forgotten even though he had known it was a possibility.

"But what I do remember," she continued, "is that even then you never pushed me for anything. You've never done that, never imposed yourself." He wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was going, but he had no escape. "Why is that?"

"What do you mean?" he hedged.

"Everyone else has. Every other man I've ever spent any amount of time with always wanted something from me." Oh, gods, he couldn't answer this, "why don't you?"

"Belle," he was desperate for her to understand him, because he wasn't sure he could explain, "I know you're alone here. I don't want to trap you, you understand? If anything were between us...it needs to be because you want it to, not because you have no other choice. That's what I want. Do you see?"

She tilted her head to the side and studied him, gods he hated when she did that. It made him feel exposed and vulnerable, like she could see straight into him.

"I think I need to take the day off," she said finally. "I have some business to attend to in town, and I don't think I can put it off any longer. I'll be back before dinner, though. I promise."

He said nothing right away, merely nodded. Gods, let her have understood him. Let this not be the beginning of the end.

"Tell Graham to take you in the carriage, and take August with you." She looked like she might protest as she rose to leave, so he continued, "I know you probably don't want the company, but honestly I don't think it's safe for you to leave by yourself."

She considered this, and then nodded her assent, slipping out the door and hopefully not out of his life.

Gods, please let her have understood.


	11. Irresistible Objects

Belle had just wanted to take a walk and clear her head, that was all. The addition of a coach and servants had not been in her original plan, and were a largely unwelcome change. But Gold was _right,_ dammit, and that's what she hated the most. That it was no longer safe for her to go about her day, that her father could steal her, that people would talk, that the talk wouldn't all be _wrong, _that she'd never realized what she was giving up until she'd tossed it all away, that she hadn't had the options she had always thought she would.

The trip into town was largely uneventful, thankfully, which did provide some chance to think. He had proposed. When had their relationship reached that point? Oh granted, it wasn't a tearful confession of love on bended knee, and it had largely been hyperbole designed to call her father's bluff, but he'd follow through if she asked. She _knew_ that, how could she know that? But she did. He'd do it if she asked, because he didn't want to lose her. It wasn't just because of her work, or her affection for his son, or any of the other little things that she'd always thought were the backbone of a marriage, because those were all things that she would do anyway – things that other people could do. He would do it for her because he cared for her, she realized. She thought, then, that perhaps marrying _him_ wouldn't be the same as marrying a man her father had handpicked. Perhaps it would be different to marry a man for whom a proposal was an open door and an invitation in rather than a trap designed to ensnare.

Luckily, the place Belle had hoped to go was a decently appointed brownstone in the town. She still had the address Mrs. Blue had given her when she left; she had said that if Belle got into trouble to come here and Belle wasn't sure she'd ever been in more trouble in her life.

Leaving Graham and August with the carriage, Belle ascended the steps. She offered her calling card to the butler, waiting to see if her reputation had preceded her this far or if she may still have a welcome.

Thankfully, she was soon shown to a well-appointed parlour where a pretty redhead sat near a window, a pile of embroidery abandoned on the table next to her.

"Well," the redhead chirped cheerfully, motioning for Belle to take a seat opposite her. "What a surprise! I don't usually get visitors, especially not strangers!"

"I apologize for the intrusion," Belle replied as she sat. "I recently moved to town and my former landlady – a Mrs. Blue – referred me to your home, Mrs. Fisher."

"Oh please, call me Ariel!" the other woman exclaimed sweetly. "And I shall call you Belle, for we are going to be the best of friends already."

Ariel, it turned out, was quite right with that prediction. Belle found her to be absolutely delightful. It was difficult not to like someone who was so open to liking you. The two chatted amiably for a while, about Belle's studies mostly and their mutual acquaintance. Ariel, it turned out, had been studying to be a nurse before meeting her ship captain husband and moving to this town. He was gone for months at a time, and consequently Ariel found herself desperately lacking in companionship. She was more than willing to overlook any shortcomings in Belle's reputation in exchange for friendship, which Belle was also more than willing to provide as long as it got her out of the house and away from her troubles.

"So what brings you here?" Ariel finally asked long after Belle had forgotten her original purpose. "Not that I mind at all, but the letter I was sent by Mrs. Blue about you seemed to suggest she was afraid you'd find yourself in some sort of trouble."

Belle smiled at that, appreciating the effort that had been gone to on her behalf even though it wasn't truly required.

"Nothing of the sort she was worried about, honestly," Belle admitted. "I just needed to talk to someone impartial. I'm...I may have fallen in love with my employer."

"Oh my, that definitely sounds like a conversation that calls for tea."

Belle explained her situation – minus a few of the more titillating details – to Ariel. For her part, Ariel was a captive audience, listening eagerly and asking questions and seemingly very caught up in the story.

"So he proposed like that in front of everyone?" she gasped at the end of the tale.

"Well, yes, but it wasn't truly a _proposal,_" Belle explained. "He said he would marry me if I wanted."

"That's really all a proposal is," Ariel pointed out. Belle was forced to concede that point.

"But it was only to prevent my father from taking me away," Belle had left out the more salacious details of that interview, too embarrassed to speak them out loud. "And he doesn't want a wife, he told me as much himself."

"That's what makes it so romantic though!" Ariel gushed. "He loves you enough that he's willing to marry you just so you'll not be forced to leave him."

Belle was at a loss as to how to react to that, Ariel was right of course, but admitting it meant admitting that things had progressed to the point that she was now seriously considering marrying Dr. Gold and Belle wasn't quite ready to take that step.

"Still, though, can I really marry him? Knowing he doesn't want to?"

"If he didn't want to marry you," Ariel said matter-of-factly, "he'd not have offered. Men don't generally make a habit of proposing marriage to women when they don't want to."

Belle contemplated this, she felt on the verge of something and found her restlessness had returned. If she sat still one more moment, she was afraid she might explode.

"I've had a lovely time, Ariel," she said with as bright a smile as she could manage. "I'm afraid I must be on my way though. I should go back home."

"Of course," Ariel said with a knowing smile. "Do call again, it's been a lovely afternoon."

"I'll come again as soon as possible," Belle promised. She was shown to the door by the butler, and found that the simple act of being outside calmed her nerves a little. Descending the stairs, she glanced down the street and noticed the bookshop was only a few buildings down from Ariel's home. She was suddenly overcome with the urge to go inside, she'd always loved books and harbored a secret passion for novels which had been largely dropped the last few years as her focus had been absorbed entirely by school. But now, she realized, school was over. She could read for leisure.

Giddy with her epiphany, Belle bounded down the steps to the street, stopping at the carriage where August and Graham stood leisurely chatting.

"I thought I might walk to the bookshop," she said. "I'll not be long."

"I should drive you," Graham seemed slightly uncomfortable at the prospect. "The doctor won't like it."

"It will be fine," she needed it to be fine. "I'll just be a moment and you'll be able to see me the whole time."

Graham and August exchanged a nervous look and a shrug before nodding.

"Alright, m'lady," Graham said. "We'll be keeping an eye on you from here."

"I'm not a lady, Graham," Belle replied. He gave her a look that said he didn't quite believe her, but he didn't argue.

Belle felt lighter already, having shaken her escort for just this little while. She needed some time alone to think, and she couldn't do that knowing August was shadowing her every step, pistol hidden in his coat.

The store was every bit as lovely as she'd hoped, tomes stacked everywhere. Belle took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of leather and parchment and paper and ink and _books_. She spent the better part of half an hour simply browsing the shelves, running her fingers over spines and gilt lettering and letting the book-scented air cleanse her heart and her mind before finally making her selection. She chose a pair of novels and a book of mythology which she intended to gift to Bae on his return from school.

As she stepped out of the door and onto the street, her new purchases lovingly wrapped in paper and cradled in her arms, she felt like a brand new person. Perhaps she would be able to get through this case after all.

Even though it took her but a few minutes to walk back to the carriage, her good mood was soured when she saw the sheriff rushing across the street to intercept her midway between the shop and the safety of the carriage.

"Miss French," he wasn't even subtle in his slow perusal of her body and she didn't miss the lust in his gaze.

"Sheriff Keith," she replied coolly, preparing to step around him. "If you'll excuse me, I was just on my way home."

"Just a moment of your time," he grabbed her arm to prevent her moving.

Belle stopped more from sheer shock than from the pressure he exerted on her, having never been roughly handled before.

"Please release my arm, Sheriff."

"In a moment, I merely wanted a chat."

Belle desperately looked over to the carriage. Graham and August were both on edge, having seen the sheriff approach her but unsure of what to do to challenge him. She couldn't blame them, she was safe as long as they were in public so this encounter would be more uncomfortable than dangerous, and he had the power to bring charges against the both of them for interfering.

"It was quite a show you put on at the festival last night," he was too close. Belle could smell ale on him and recoiled in disgust.

"Yes, well I understand that's something of a local tradition," she retorted, hoping her clear aversion to him would convince him to leave.

Sadly, the man seemed impervious to feminine distaste, snorting in amusement and rubbing his thumb over her arm in a manner she supposed was meant to be seductive but just made her feel dirty.

"Still, though, it was quite a show. Quite a show indeed. Give a man ideas, you will."

"Sheriff," she said, drawing herself up to her full height and attempting to summon whatever genteel dignity remained in her arsenal. "I can assure you that, whatever else you may think, your _ideas_ were the furthest thing from my mind last night and every other night before. Now, if you'll excuse me."

She yanked her arm from his grip and marched back to the carriage with her head held high. She knew he watched her, she could feel his eyes on her as she retreated. She couldn't be safely inside the box and out of his view fast enough. Her mood was now worse than it was when she had left and she felt sick to her stomach, still feeling the sheriff's hand on her arm. She peeled off her coat and tossed it to the other seat to rid herself of the feel of his touch. She doubted she'd ever wear it again.

Was this what being a fallen woman was, then? Belle was sure she must have judged women like her in her old life, though she couldn't remember any specific examples. She'd not done what people thought, but she had done enough, apparently, to earn this – ruined, but not compromised. It would almost have been funny if she hadn't been so angry. She was fortunate to have gotten the warm reception she received at Ariel's place, and had she waited long enough for the gossip to circulate she might not have even received that.

The longer she waited to make this choice, the fewer options she had. She'd been gifted a choice in the matter so far, Dr. Gold having taken great care to ensure that she did have that at least. She could return home in shame and submit to her father's plans to stem the gossip by marrying Gaston and giving up her career, she could continue on as she had never daring to leave the safety of her new home for fear of men who would take liberties, or she could marry a man she was rapidly growing to love. Well, when she thought about it in those terms, the decision was easier to make than she had originally thought.

No matter her personal preference for spinsterhood, that was clearly becoming an unrealistic and unacceptable option. For better or worse, she was now backed into a corner by three men, and of the lot of them only one had the grace to offer her a say in the matter. She couldn't go on living with the likes of Sheriff Keith thinking they had rights to her time and her body, that much was clear. And her father's solution was totally unacceptable in every conceivable way. But surprisingly, the more Belle thought about marriage now as an inevitability rather than an option, the more at peace she became. Weren't there worse fates, after all, than marrying a man who shared your passions? A man who respected your choices and honored your decisions? A man who had never imposed on you, a man you found yourself wanting more and more as you grew to know him? A man you could let yourself truly love?

She _wanted_ to marry him, she realized. She had wanted it since she kissed him, since the first time they fought. She had wanted him that long, or longer, and now she could have him. There was no reason to say no anymore. No reason to resist a man she would trust with her life, a man who she believed in and who believed in her. A man who would do whatever she asked of him, even let her go.

And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like ages, Belle felt a great weight lift off of her shoulders. She had made a choice, she had chosen her fate, and now no one could take that away from her. Not her father, not Professor Whale, not Sheriff Keith. The only man who could was Dr. Gold, and Belle knew he'd not refuse her, knew he wanted her, too. He was her salvation, and she would be his support, and they would be happy.

She couldn't keep the smile off her face, couldn't stop the giggle that erupted from her chest. She was to be a bride after all, it seemed. She really could have it all – have everything she'd ever wanted.

Gold had meant to get some work done during Belle's absence, but work had largely eluded him. He couldn't focus, couldn't stop wondering where she was or if she was alright or how the events of the last twenty-four hours had affected her. He was absolutely hopeless.

He amused himself by standing at the window watching for the carriage's return. It wasn't entirely out of routine; he often watched the world from these windows, it was why he liked this tower. He couldn't suppress a grin when he finally saw their return, saw Belle hop down from the carriage with packages in her arms and a smile on her face (she was not wearing a coat, though, which seemed odd).

He had enough presence of mind to dash (insomuch as one could dash with a cane, anyway) to the workbench and pretend to be looking over notes by the time she swung the door open. She'd abandoned her parcels by then, though she'd not changed out of her dress into her work clothes, and she had a peculiar look on her face. She looked vulnerable and scared, but still determined. He realized now that he was seeing her for the first time without any sort of facade. She was making no attempt to disguise her raw emotions, and she was disconcerting in her openness.

He suddenly felt the urge to run.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" she said, shutting the door behind her and standing with her back to it.

"What did I say earlier?" He knew precisely what she meant, but he needed to hear her say it because he didn't think he could survive a misunderstanding in this moment.

"With my father." She was breathing a little faster, her breaths shallow from excitement. "When you said you'd marry me if I said yes."

He felt his throat dry up, even though this had been exactly what he anticipated. He tried to form words to answer her, but was only able to manage a gulp and nod of his head in the affirmative.

"Ask me again," she took a few tentative steps towards him. "Really ask me."

He tried to, but he felt like she was moving faster than his brain could keep up.

"I have had three men today try to tell me what to do, or try to save me from myself, or try to take liberties," she continued. As he was only aware of two of those men, he made a mental note to ask August about the trip to town later. "Only one of them – you – has tried to give me a choice, so let it be my choice. Ask me again."

He stood, coming around the table to stand in front of her. She would have to forgive him the bended knee, as he didn't think his ankle would cooperate, and he had no ring as he had not expected to be proposing to anyone today. Somehow, though, he suspected she wouldn't even notice these things.

"Belle French," he took a deep breath to calm his racing nerves. He knew he should list off her many virtues and all the ways he loved her, all the reasons it was a suitable match and his assets and all the ways he'd endeavor to make her a happy woman, but none of that felt right. Not for this woman, at least. He would spare her the petty flattery and do her the honor of trusting she knew her own mind, that she did not require convincing and that it wouldn't have worked if she did. "Will you...would you do me the great honor of consenting to be my wife?"

"Yes," she said after what felt like the longest moment of his life but couldn't have been more than a half a second. She rushed to him, throwing herself into his arms and pressing a kiss to his lips before continuing. "Yes, I will marry you."

Something in him snapped at that, and he pulled her into a tight embrace, he felt lighter somehow. He hadn't known how much he truly wanted her answer until he had it, had wanted her to come to him willingly until she'd thrown herself into him.

He kissed her again, now, thrusting his hands into her hair as he'd wanted to every other time they had kissed. She gasped, but pressed back, holding his lapels and dipping her tongue into his mouth. She was every bit the aggressor, willing to meet him inch for inch and push further if she wanted more. When they finally broke apart, her lips a bruised looking red and her eyes dark with desire, he knew this had been the right choice. How could he have ever thought he could keep her here and not love her – not want her?

"No wait!" she yelped, pulling back just a little, just enough for him to feel his heart plummet to the ground.

He tried to summon up the courage to accept her changed mind, but found it failing him.

"I don't know your given name," she said with a light blush and a sheepish expression. "What am I to call you?"

He thought he might die from relief but instead leaned against the table and pulled her to him, hoping she wouldn't realize that she'd quite nearly killed him.

"I'd prefer you not use my given name, if at all possible," he confessed.

"It can't be too awful, and I can't go around calling you Dr. Gold," she accepted his tight embrace easily, letting him hold her just off balance, letting him support her. "And regardless of whether I use it, I ought to at least know it if I am to be your wife."

"My name is Rumsby," he said with a grimace.

"Oh," was the only reply, as though it wasn't a terrible name.

"I can only assume my father thought it sounded aristocratic," he shrugged. "I believe it was his mother's maiden name, if I'm not mistaken."

"It's a very nice name."

"You're a terrible liar," he said with a smile, finally releasing her and taking a seat so as to give his ankle some relief. "You can see why I'd prefer you not use it."

"Well, then we shall just have to come up with something else," she said sweetly, hopping up to sit on the table in front of him. "I assume 'Rum' is quite out of the question?"

"That's not so bad, really." He'd let her call him any damn thing she wished quite frankly. "As long as it's in private, I prefer to not let more people than necessary know if you don't mind."

After a moment she seemed to grasp the meaning of the word 'private' had new connotations now, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"I'm sure I'll think of something," she finally said. "I suppose there are a few other details we should iron out first, as well."

"Probably." He thought for a moment. "Would you like a long engagement?"

"All things considered, we should probably marry as soon as possible."

"I can have Jefferson get a special license?"

"That may be for the best," she was elsewhere now in her mind. He definitely would need to ask August and Graham about her outing later.

"So a short engagement it is. Anything else?"

She looked like she wanted to say something, but stopped herself at the last moment.

"What is it?" he probed gently. "Belle, you'll have to tell me these things if this is going to work."

"What about children?"

This was the sticking point for her, he knew. He understood her fear entirely, this was one area that would always require more from her than from him and he had the benefit of knowing what to expect as well.

"Well, there are _ways_ of preventing pregnancy, of course. None of them are entirely foolproof, though."

She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"And Belle," he looked up at her, desperate for her to understand this one thing if nothing else. "We never need to do anything you don't want. If you're not ready, well, we can work around that. And when you are, if you ever are, there's no need to give up this –" he gestured around the tower, meaning their work together, "entirely. Bae was raised half in the workroom and half in the nursery. It can work."

She looked like she might cry at that, and rather than answering she reached a hand out to slide her fingers through his hair softly. She touched him as though she were afraid he would disappear if she wasn't so completely careful. He smiled and turned into her hand, letting her do with him as she would. No matter what else, he knew he'd made the right choice because when she looked at him, she made him want to be a better man, and that was one thing that had never happened before.


	12. Entropy

Brides were supposed to be busy the week before their wedding. Belle, however, expected no out of town guests, had no last minute arrangements to prepare, and no trousseau to hurriedly finish. She wasn't even willing to leave the house, fearing another confrontation with the sheriff or her father, instead spending her days in the tower workroom. Dr. Gold had made all the arrangements himself, even hiring women to come to the house to take her measurements for a dress. Her one duty had been writing to her father's housekeeper and asking for the trousseau that had been prepared for her be sent. Not because she had any real need of linens, but her mother had made a few of the pieces in it, and it was the principle of the thing more than anything else. She was to be a wife, she should be able to bring at least this much to a marriage.

As the date drew nearer, Dr. Gold was away more often, there were meetings with Mr. Jefferson and wedding plans that still had to be done whether Belle could leave the house or not. She couldn't begrudge him the time away, since it was mostly due to dealing with her family and their impending wedding, but it was still lonely work locked away in a tower trying to mathematically prove time travel possible.

She'd never understood his desire for an assistant more than she did while working alone. They were close to a major breakthrough, she could feel it in her bones, the strange mental itch that had accompanied all her best work at school was just at the edge of her consciousness. She missed him though, missed his opinions and his experience. Nobody had ever really taken her seriously, or trusted her with this level of responsibility in any of the experiments or papers she'd ever been involved in. While intellectually she knew she was capable of doing the work, there was always the little voice in her head that still wasn't sure she was good enough. She had to be good enough this time, though, because there was no one else.

By the third day before the wedding, Belle was nearly at her wit's end with the solitude. It was almost dinner time before Dr. Gold finally joined her, setting an envelope and a small package down on the table and stripping his coat off before taking a seat.

"What's this?" she said, glancing up from her work and indicating the parcels he'd dropped.

"They're for you," he said, intentionally not looking at her, seeming to project as much nonchalance as reasonably possible as she reached for them.

The first thing Belle opened was the package, untying the string and pulling off the brown paper to reveal a small decorative wooden box. When she opened the lid, she found a gold ring with a single diamond surrounded by sapphires in the shape of a flower. She touched it tentatively, as though afraid to break it, which was silly. It was clearly hers, clearly a betrothal ring, and clearly not going to shatter if she touched it. She should put it on, but it felt like too much to attempt it yet.

"Is it to your liking?" This was the first overt sign of nervousness she'd seen since he proposed, which, if anything, made her feel more secure in her choice to have just this last little reassurance that he took this as seriously as she.

"It's lovely," she said, and it was. He had chosen it for her, and it would have been perfect no matter what it looked like, but she did love it. She couldn't have imagined a better ring had she tried. "You didn't have to do this, but it's beautiful."

"It's nothing," he said with a shrug. "This is all happening so fast, I thought you deserved as much of a proper betrothal as possible. And anyway, the sapphires reminded me of your eyes, it seemed to suit."

He glanced away at the last part, as though afraid of her reaction. He was to be her husband, theoretically he would be noticing more than her eyes in three days time. This revelation made her cheeks burn and she turned to grab the envelope to cover the direction of her thoughts.

The envelope turned out to contain a few sheets of paper, which on further examination revealed themselves as a will. Her brow furrowed as she read through the documents, not sure what to make of this. Legal paperwork wasn't her forte, and she was already overwhelmed.

"Rum, what is this?"

"Just in case something happens to me," he was back to feigning indifference. "Half of everything goes to Bae, half to you. The house will go to him, but all my notes and patents will go to you. It should be enough to keep you solvent, regardless. But I imagine he'd like it if you stayed anyway, he's rather fond of you."

"Why did you do all this?" she couldn't keep the tears from her eyes as she asked.

"You should be taken care of," he explained. "If you've been ruined because of me then at least I'll make sure you're cared for."

"I have some money, you know. We discussed this when I first arrived."

"And now you have more," he fixed her with a heavy stare now. "Regardless of anything your father does or doesn't do. That document takes effect now, actually. Whether you marry me or not, I could drop dead tomorrow and you'd be taken care of."

She reached her hand across the table, leaning forward and taking one of his hands in both of hers.

"I can't tell you what all this means to me, Rum. I really can't."

"I told you, it's no matter. I was righting a wrong, that's all."

"No, it's not all. You didn't have to do any of this, but I'm glad you did," she felt his fingers curl into hers gently. "I need to thank you for this, for everything."

"Really, sweetheart," he reached his free hand over to pluck the ring out of the box on the table, then grasped her left hand in his and slid the ring onto her fourth finger. "I'd have been a fool not to ask you, and the worst sort of man had I not done my best to make sure you were cared for."

"I am cared for," Belle said softly. The longer this went on, the more she realized how true it was. He tried to pretend like it wasn't about that, he spoke of honor and protecting her but everything in his demeanor and his actions spoke of care.

He held her hands, seemingly unwilling to let her go. This wedding was really going to happen, Bell realized. She was to marry this man whom she had chosen of her own free will. The idea brought a giddy grin to her face. He held her gaze for a little, a tentative smile beginning to overtake his features. His smiles were always delicate things, as though he were never quite sure whether he had anything to be happy about before offering one, as though he was afraid it would be rejected when offered. There were layers of meaning in each them that Belle feared she would never quite be able to uncover.

She was completely lost over him.

Gold was in over his head. He knew it, he'd known it since the day she arrived, and he'd thrown them together anyway. He'd been married before, but it had never been like this. He'd never found himself so completely lost in Milah's company that he wasn't sure what to say, never found himself basking in her presence. This was uncharted territory, and he wasn't sure whether he was elated or terrified or some combination of the two.

He was silent too long, Belle drew away slowly, returning to her papers. He should work, too, but somehow he couldn't quite make his concentration come to him. It was odd: He'd never been unable to work before, to focus on his equations and papers. He considered going his chair to sit and think, or else to get a book and read some theories, but he was stopped by a soft _huh_ coming from across the table.

Glancing up, Belle had set her pen down and was staring quizzically at a sheet of paper.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"Can you look this over for me?" she replied, handing him her work. "I'm not sure, but I think it's – I think it's done."

That got his attention, he gingerly took her paper from her and began reading the equations she'd been working on. The paper was a combination of a few of his equations, plus one or two others he didn't recognize – whether they were hers or from her research, he didn't know – but the result was the same. She'd cobbled these bits of research and work together into an idea, into a hypothesis. A real, working _hypothesis_ that could be tested and proven or disproven. This in itself wasn't anything particularly special, he'd had a dozen or so of these in his years working on _Eurydice_ and every one of them had been proven faulty. Belle seemed to have read through his notes and pieced them together with outside material to create this new idea, something concrete and testable and full of new potential.

"This is good," he finally said, flipping through the pages of notes. "It's very, very good, actually."

"Really?" it was hard to miss the hopeful note in her voice, she'd not been sure he'd approve or that she'd been right.

"It's excellent work," he reassured. "It doesn't mean it will work, but I do believe we have something to test now."

She smiled now, her elation bubbling up in a little hiccup of laughter.

"We're going to test it?"

"Of course we are," he couldn't keep her good mood from affecting him as well. "That's what you do with a hypothesis, my dear. And this is one of the better ones I've seen."

She exhaled, her shoulders sagging with relief.

"I was afraid I'd made a mistake when I realized I could go no further."

"There's no need, your work is solid."

"It's mostly your work," she said sheepishly.

"There's nearly no way to do this sort of work without building on that of others," he said. "And regardless, we should celebrate. This is our first major breakthrough since you arrived."

"How should we mark the occasion?"

"Anyway you like, dearest."

"Anyway I like?" she repeated slowly, as though confirming the seriousness of his offer before proceeding.

There was a strange little note in her voice that had him nearly regretting his choice to give her this open invitation. But no, he had made the offer and would see it through. Anything she wanted.

She rose from her seat and walked around the table to stand next to where he sat, a strange smile playing on her face as she looked down at him.

"Do you remember that first night I came here?" she reached a hand out to him, not quite sure where to place it before tentatively touching his hair with her fingers. "When I came upstairs in my dinner clothes to look over the board?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady if he answered.

"Well, I had come from dinner with your son," she continued. He wasn't surprised, but he'd not been able to put too much thought into it at the time as he'd been so distracted by her nearness and the fact that she was _Belle_. "It was the first I'd known what you were working on when he told me. I was absolutely horrified, I'd just gambled my entire life on being here in the first place, and there I was on what seemed to be a wild goose chase."

"And yet you stayed."

"I did stay," she agreed. "Do you know why?"

He shook his head, he knew bits and pieces but wanted to hear what she had to say – wanted to hear what he hoped she would say.

"I stayed because of you."

The silence in the room became deafening in the wake of her revelation, the hand that had been toying with the hair at the base of his neck the only movement he could detect. There was no falsehood in her expression, no indication this was some petty flattery designed to make him like her more, and he felt like he was at the edge of a precipice looking down a dangerous drop. They were on the verge of something here and he needed it to come from her.

"Belle..." he whispered her name, unsure whether he was begging her to continue or just desperate for her to fill the void that he hadn't even known he had until she had shone a light onto it.

"I stayed because nobody had ever treated me like you do. You assumed I was capable of the work, you never once treated me like I was a second choice or a waste of time."

"You've not yet failed a task I set before you," he said. "Assuming you were going to would have been a waste of both our times."

"I was so terrified the first few weeks that I would fail you, because if I failed you it would mean everyone else was right about me."

"Belle," he wrapped a hand around her wrist, stilling it in his hair. "Never say that again. Never think it again. The people who doubted you _were_ wrong. You have one of the most brilliant minds I've ever seen. You lack experience, but you're meant to lack experience at twenty-five. That will come."

She gave a small smile, canting her head just slightly to the side and glancing quickly to his mouth.

"You said we would celebrate however I wanted," her voice barely above a whisper now as she moved to stand between his legs and gave a gentle pull of his head.

He didn't need any further encouragement, he would have succumbed to her if she had simply asked it of him, because he was entirely without the ability to deny her anything. Her unpracticed seductions, though, were more intoxicating than she could have ever known. She ducked her head to press a gentle kiss to his lips, and he was craning his neck upward to meet her. This kiss was a delicate thing – the sort that would be used in a fairy tale to wake a sleeping princess or break the curse on a handsome prince. But there was no princess, no handsome prince. Just a mad scientist and his assistant, Rumsby Gold and Belle French – the half-crazed hermit and the fallen daughter of a gentleman.

When she finally pulled away again, he stared up at her, his right hand finding her left and his ring that had been placed there. The soft scratch of the stones against his fingers gave him courage for this next part, grounded him in her. The one question that needed answering before this could go further.

"Why did you tell me all this?" he asked.

"Do you know why Orpheus lost Eurydice?"

It took him a moment to understand her question, to change the train of his thoughts back to work and myths.

"Because he turned around," he answered. "He broke his deal with Hades that he wouldn't look at her before she was once again returned to the living."

Belle shook her head, loose curls dancing around her face as she did.

"Orpheus lost Eurydice because he never trusted that she was really there to begin with," her voice was patient, as though he were a child who had performed a lesson wrong. "That's what Hades was asking of him, for him to trust that she had been returned and that she was his again. If he'd ever truly trusted she was there, she would have been saved. I just didn't want either of us to make that same mistake."

And then, he understood.

"That's not what these gifts were," he tried to explain, but they both knew she was right. He had always half believed she would leave and she had always half believed he would find her wanting. Instead of continuing his thought, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer until they were pressed together. He held her, letting his head rest against her breasts as she trailed her fingertips up and down his spine and into his hair. He hoped it could always be like this between them, this quiet acceptance and comfort. No words needed, no words even wanted.

Belle, as it turned out, was not particularly gifted at mechanics. They had eaten a quick dinner. before moving from the workroom to the small cellar that _Eurydice_ was stored in so they could begin the work on preparing her for the next day. They weren't accustomed to working this late, but the excitement of this latest progress had been enough of a catalyst. Whatever her skills in theory or laboratory work, the correct usage of a hammer eluded her. More than once she caught her future husband trying heroically to stifle a laugh at her various accidents. She hated feeling so incompetent, which made her snippy, which made him defensive, and the entire situation was rapidly spiraling out of control.

"I can't do this," Belle dropped the hammer she had once again smashed her fingers with angrily. She'd have thrown it had she been sure she wouldn't have broken anything, but it was still fairly satisfying to hear it bang into the floorboards.

"Maybe we should take a break," he said, his good humor having been worn out by this point.

"Why bother? I'm not going to be any help here."

"You're not incapable of using the tools," he explained for the third time that evening. "It's just that you've never done it before. You'll learn."

"I won't have any fingers left by the end of the week." She displayed her hand, her fingertips were already bright red and becoming swollen. One particularly nasty accident earlier had even cut open one of her fingers, a wound which had reopened due to this latest incident.

"Maybe we should bandage these," he conceded, walking to a chest of drawers to pull out some plasters.

He sat on the plush chair at the center of the platform on which the machine stood and gestured for her to come over. She wavered for a moment before going to him. She knew she was being unreasonable, but gods it grated on her to fail – especially in front of him. She sullenly offered him her bruised left hand, letting him put a soothing balm over her fingertips and wrap them in cloth.

"I don't think you'll be doing needlepoint with it anytime soon," he said solemnly, holding her hand in his once his work was done.

This finally earned him a laugh, which seemed to have been what he was attempting if his expression of relief was anything to go by. He brushed his lips gently across her scraped knuckles before releasing her.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I know I'm being unreasonable about this. It just frustrates me when my skills come up lacking."

"I don't think anyone likes coming up short of where they think they should be," he said. "That's why they get better at things."

She knew he was right, but her pride had taken more of a beating than her hand.

"I have an idea," he said finally, standing and walking back over to the cabinet he'd pulled the plasters out of and pulling out a book. He handed it to her before returning to his work prying the power source out of the base of the machine. "Why don't you read to me while I do this, and tomorrow we'll see if we can't figure out something for you to do that will spare your fingertips?"

She gave him a look, trying to decide if her pride would be more wounded by giving up helping or by gouging her hand open with a chisel. Taking the job reading narrowly won out, and largely because Belle had never done particularly well with the sight of her own blood. So she dropped down into the chair without a word and opened the book.

She felt his eyes on her for a little while as she began reading him the legend of Orpheus, but eventually the sounds of work resumed around her.

Eurydice was perhaps the best name he could have chosen for this, she realized as she read. Not because of her mythological connections, but instead because Belle wasn't sure that he'd ever love another person as much as he loved this machine. She was his entire world, and he had dedicated eighteen years of his life exclusively to her. She had ended his first marriage, strained his relationship with his son, and had Belle not been involved in her creation, rejection would have been nearly assured to her as well. He would go through any hell for Eurydice.

She would not shed tears, though, would not become jealous of this. She had known about Eurydice soon after she arrived, and long before they had become involved. But she was to be the wife of a husband who would always have a true love that could not love him back.

What sort of existence was that to be for her? It wasn't a love match, exact. If she was being honest their marriage would be the result of some combination of convenience, simple lust, and a desire for companionship. She'd heard of worse beginnings, but it was hardly the stuff of legend. Yet she would grow to love him, she knew. Already it was taking root in her, it had coiled around her heart and for the first time she felt the cold sting of jealousy. Gold cared for her, too, this she was sure of. But the one question she had never stopped to ask, the one thing she had never thought to doubt, was suddenly the question she most desperately needed the answer to: would Eurydice always be the first woman in his life, and would there be room enough for Belle to be there as well?


	13. Orbital Movement

By the night before the wedding, Belle's nerves had quite gotten away from her. In less than twelve hours, she would be a wife – Belle French would cease to exist, and she would forever more be known as Mrs. Rumsby Malcolm Gold. They'd been working long hours on the time machine, which was a pleasant distraction but couldn't save her now in the black of night. The last she'd heard, the clocks in the hall had chimed one in the morning and she was wide awake. Her hair was pinned and twisted into a style that would leave her with beautifully cascading curls come morning, it was tugging her scalp with pins poking her with every move of her head upon her pillow. All her belongings, save her new wedding dress and the things she would need to prepare in the morning, had been moved into the west wing where she would spend the next night (and the rest of her life) with her new husband.

She desperately needed a distraction, but none was forthcoming. She could ring for Ruby, but it was the middle of the night and Belle would rather suffer than wake the poor girl who still had to work tomorrow. All Belle really had to do was look pretty and remember to say _I do_ when prompted by the vicar. There was one person she might seek comfort from, but it would be ridiculously inappropriate to go to him. Except, he was to be her husband tomorrow. Who was to know if she went to him tonight? What difference could it possibly make? She did not give herself time to change her mind once the idea presented itself, and practically jumped out of bed now that she had a plan she could enact, wanting to reach him before she could lose her nerve.

The presence of August in the hallway proved only a minor inconvenience, he was asleep and Belle was able to move through the hall quietly enough to get past him. From there it was a simple matter of making her way through the halls to the suite of rooms that would be theirs and hope they weren't locked – somehow, it never occurred to her to think he might be asleep. She knew he'd been hiding from his nerves this week as well, he'd be awake.

She had been right, slipping through the door to the shared sitting room revealed her soon-to-be-husband seated in an overstuffed armchair in front of the fire. He held a glass of something, but didn't seem to have touched it if the level was anything to go by. As soon as he saw her, though, he leapt to his feet and set his glass on the table.

"Belle." He breathed her name as though he wasn't sure if he were dreaming before shaking himself back to reality. "Is everything alright?"

"No," she admitted, realizing only as she saw him flush and force his eyes to a spot slightly above her head that she had walked in wearing nothing but a thin nightdress without even a robe. "I couldn't sleep, and I could use some company."

He fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, before nodding and gesturing for her to take the seat on the chaise. He prepared to sit on the chair again but Belle curled up against the back of the lounge, and patted the other end of the seat next to her. He eyed her warily but relented, taking his glass, an empty one, and a decanter from the table and coming to sit next to her.

"Would you like a drink?" He offered her the empty glass.

She felt her stomach roil at the memory of the last time they drank together, but perhaps a little bit would help settle her. He smiled as she took the cup, pouring a small portion of the liquor and smiling wider when she flinched at the first sip of it. It was quite a bit stronger than the spirits she was used to being offered as a lady.

"Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?" He was visibly uncomfortable, which boded poorly for Belle's plans, though she wasn't quite willing to give them up yet.

"No." She reached out and took his hand, trying to offer a reassuring smile. "I was just nervous. This has all been so very, very fast. Honestly I'm feeling better already."

He was still trying valiantly not to look at her, it would have been endearing had she not been so desperate for him to touch her in that moment.

"That's good, then," he murmured, taking a sip of his drink and looking away from her.

Belle set her glass down on the floor and straightened up a little, feeling vaguely predatory as she tried to decide how best to approach him. Well, damn the consequences. He would be her husband in the morning, she could be brave now.

She reached out, laying her hand on his forearm and guiding it to the floor to set his glass down. He did look at her now, wide eyed and unblinking as though he had finally realized the direction of her thoughts.

She bridged the gap between them in an instant, pressing her lips against his and reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair. He stiffened, but soon relaxed into her kiss, deepening it further and letting his tongue be drawn into her mouth. He tasted warm and sweet, like the liquor he'd offered her and Belle found herself intoxicated and relaxed for the first time in what felt like ages. This was precisely the sort of distraction she'd been craving, not work but him – his presence and his touch. She wanted to be consumed, wanted to take him into her and devour him.

Belle put her hand on his chest and fisted the fine fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer to her as she began to lean back against the chaise, maneuvering him on top of her. He resisted, before giving a strangled groan and following where she led him. Gold was being so very careful of her, catching the bulk of his weight on an arm stretched out behind her and trailing the fingers of his other hand down her face, his lips soon moving away from hers to travel down the path his hand had made from her temple to neck and shoulder. She moaned her pleasure, pulling his shirt out from where it had been tucked into his trousers and placed her hand on the skin of his hip. He hissed as though she'd burned him, and continued planting kisses across her collar bone. He felt marvelous, and she carefully brought her knee up until he was half-cradled against her, her nightgown pooled around her hips.

When she brought her hands to the front of his shirt and began to unbutton it, though, he snapped to attention. He grabbed one of her hands and held it still, bowing his head and breathing heavily. She managed to free one more button before he looked up at her again, the passion having bled from his face.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice still heavy with closeness and kisses but an edge of wariness had now crept in.

"I..." Did he need her to spell it out for him? "I missed you."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it was as much of the truth as she could bring herself to say with his eyes on her like this, boring into her. He straightened back up, glancing down to her bared legs and making a strangled whimper in the back of his throat before averting his gaze. She slid her nightgown down, staring at him with a slow creeping horror rising through her. Did he not want her the same way she'd wanted him?

"I'm sorry," she apologized, moving to touch his face but he jumped up and paced a few feet away, still not looking at her.

"You have nothing to apologize for." He sounded so lost and she wanted to comfort him but didn't know how to begin. "But you should go back to bed now, Belle."

She could tell he was trying valiantly to regain control of his voice and she wished she could see his face and reassure him that she knew what she was doing and beg him to let her stay and that she'd not try anything again if he would just let her _stay_ where it was warm and she felt protected and cared for and not go back to her cold, lonely bed.

But he didn't turn around. She rose from her seat and went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and feeling his muscles tense. She had been wrong, he hadn't wanted her that way. There was nothing left for her to do but slip out of his room before she could make more of a fool of herself.

The trip back to her bedroom seemed half the distance as the one to his room, with her embarrassment chasing her the entire way. She didn't even slow her pace as she passed August, not sure if he stirred as she slipped back into her bedchamber and braced the door shut and not really caring. She'd thought he wanted her, she'd _known_ he wanted her. He didn't seem averse to her kisses and her gentle touches, and she'd been the one to pull away the first time, so why did he flinch from her now?

Even as she made the long, lonely walk to her bed she could feel the proof that she had wanted him pooled between her legs, the one part of her that hadn't taken his word for it when he'd told her to leave. She crawled under the sheets, trying to ignore the dull throb of desire that had, at least, distracted her from her woes for the moment.

This was ridiculous, she decided. There was no reason to suffer this, too, when she had relief at her fingertips and knew how to ease this particular hurt. She raised the hem of her nightdress, letting her fingers ghost across herself, sliding in easily as she wet them for easier movement over her clitoris. Belle was no stranger to pleasure, though even as a child she had known this was forbidden knowledge and that she had to be discreet. It was supposedly the sign of a disturbed mind, this act, but she never felt more herself than in the blissful moments after a climax tore through her body. It was close kin to madness, but she had been called many unkind things in her life and couldn't believe all of them, for a husband hunter could not be a prude, and a prude could not be a whore. Dr. Gold thought she was brilliant, and people called him mad but she knew he wasn't. Or perhaps he was, and they both were, and people were right about both of them. Either way, Belle refused to be shamed in the darkness.

Slick with her pleasure, Belle's fingers found purchase on either side of the nub at the apex of her sex and began moving in the rhythmic patterns that usually brought her to completion. But this time, everything was slightly wrong. She could not quite get the angle right and when she did, her nails bit into her tender flesh spurring her onwards but also causing a sharp ache she knew she would feel come morning.

Even the images that she usually called forth to bring herself off – the blacksmith she had once seen shirtless, the tall bearing of one of the soldiers she had known when she lived on the islands, the way one of her classmates had smiled at her before kissing her under the mistletoe at a midwinter party – were out of her reach today. They were replaced, instead, by Gold. By the way he had stood just slightly too close on her first day in the lab, by the feel of him pressed against her hip both on Eurydice's console and again in his bedroom, by the way he smiled when he thought she wasn't looking and by how safe she'd felt in his arms the day he caught her – even by the thrill of passion she'd felt the day they argued over her dusting the shelves and her secret wish at that moment that he'd haul her to him and kiss her until she forgot the damned shelves.

Everything inside of her had been transformed by him, and she couldn't puzzle him out. He was a mystery she'd not yet uncovered; how he could want her close yet push her away, care for her so dearly yet reject her as she threw herself at him. She felt tight as a bowstring as she gave up caring and learned to like the bite of fingernails, finally feeling the first waves of pleasure wash over her. But it hadn't worked, and she felt hot tears she hadn't known had been gathering finally stream out of her eyes and into her hair. She still felt the need for him between her legs, and her hand was not going to satisfy that urge for his touch on her or in her.

But he had rejected her, and how could she live a life without his acceptance?

She did, at least, mercifully cry herself to sleep.

Gold stood there a long time after she left before finally collapsing back to his seat. Even the scotch he'd been sipping had lost its appeal now, it tasted too much like her. He'd reacted badly, he knew that. Gods did he know that, even without being able to see the hurt on her face he'd heard it in her voice. She hadn't understood, and how could he have expected her to? She was young, she was beautiful, she had never been unloved or unwanted. He was just so damn terrified. He was a failure as a husband once already, expecting him to be able to hold the attentions of a wife who was younger, prettier, and smarter than his last one was just asking for trouble. He'd never been particularly accomplished at pleasing his last wife, and he didn't imagine the years of celibacy had done him any favors on that score.

But he was stuck, because she seemed to want him and he could not deny her anything except, it seemed, this. He could not ruin her completely, no matter what everyone else thought of him or of her he would not trap her. She would have as long as he could possibly give her to change her mind. He'd not even change the will if she did, she would be protected.

And now, he realized with bitter amusement, she thought he didn't want her. Oh if she only knew. He'd been wanting, oh he had wanted her more than he'd wanted to draw his next breath. He'd wanted her like one wants water after a day of hard labor in the summer sun, the way one begins to crave sunlight after too long in the dark. He'd wanted her the way food and shelter were wanted, as though she were some essential thing he'd gone too long without and now found he couldn't get enough of.

He wanted her too much, that had always been his problem as far as she was concerned. Really, it had been his problem his entire life if he thought about it. He had wanted academic achievement, and it had cost him his leg and his wife and nearly his son. He had completely lost any semblance of a decent reputation. Now he wanted Belle, and it was so deceptively simple when he thought about it: they shared a life's work, they could share a purpose and a family and their lives. But he wanted her to the point of distraction, and while he knew someday she would surpass him in deed if not reputation, he had already lost so much in the pursuit of this. He could not falter here, not now, not when he was so very, very close.

But _gods_ did he want her. And she'd come to him, warm and willing and desperate for his affection and he had cast her off. There had been so many reasons, so many excuses, and he was lying to himself. He hadn't done it in order to not disappoint her or to save her, he hadn't done it to preserve his work. Not that those weren't all good reasons in and of themselves, but none was _the_ reason. He had sent her away because he was a failure as a husband (for Milah had despised him), a failure as a protector (for she was his dependent), and a failure as a scientist (for Eurydice was little more than a fool's errand and a distraction at this point). But he would not fail Belle in this one thing, he would not degrade her by his touch and by his deed, not when the wedding was so close and when she was the only one who could suffer for it.

What was it his professor had always said? _Character is what you are in the dark_. He could have had Belle, could have slaked his lust and she'd never have known if he was any good which would have been a small mercy, but he'd have ruined her, and he'd have always known it. Regardless of whether Belle would eventually have hated him for that fact, it was a moment he wouldn't be able to take back and he knew he would have grown to hate himself for it. Some things were too precious to ruin, and with Bae at school Belle was the most precious thing he had.

He could make it up to her tomorrow, he swore. He would do everything in his power to let her spend the rest of her life knowing she was loved and cherished and wanted, he just had to get some sleep and get through a wedding first. That was all. He could walk across hot coals if she asked him to, he could do this. He had to.

Belle was woken by Ruby far earlier than she'd have preferred, but she'd barely been asleep anyway. If anything, she was more tired now than she had been when she fell asleep. But, the fact remained that it was time to get ready. She couldn't even feel scared, just a vague sense of relief that her hair would finally be let down.

It would have been bad luck for Rum to see her, so she would be kept to her room until it was time to leave for the chapel. She wouldn't even see him in the carriage, he'd be leaving for town ahead of her and would meet her there in order to prepare the paperwork that would end the lawsuit. Mr. Jefferson would attend their wedding, and leave immediately afterward to deliver affidavits from all the pertinent parties to the courthouse, whereupon the case against them would be dismissed. There would be no real reception, Bae had not been able to return home on such short notice due to his upcoming exams, and Belle had yet to be sent her trousseau. There was no one to walk her down the aisle. And yet, she was marrying a man who she cared deeply for and who (regardless of whatever had happened last night) at least cared for her well-being. Her place in society would be assured, she would be allowed to continue her work, she would be respected, and she could stay in the home she had grown to love.

"Are you excited?" Ruby asked, as she carefully removed the pins she'd so meticulously placed the night before and let the tight curls that had formed fall around Belle's face.

She should be excited, she should be scared, she should be elated, she was none of those things. She was a bundle of conflicted emotions that had been compressed down into the skin of a girl.

"I don't know," Belle answered honestly. "I _should_ be, but this is just all happening so fast, but I'm also just ready for it to be over. It's been a lot to take in these last few weeks."

"I imagine so." Ruby gave Belle a sympathetic smile, running a wide toothed comb through the tight curls to create a slightly more natural look. "He's been good to you though, hasn't he?"

Ruby's hands stilled as she asked the question and her smile faltered just for a second. The knowledge that Ruby had been worried on her behalf flooded Belle with such a sense of affection that she practically collapsed.

"He's been very good to me, Ruby," she assured the maid. "Honestly, it's the happiest I've ever been despite the upheaval. I'd not ask for more."

"That's good." Ruby smiled wider, pulling a few sections of Belle's hair back, braiding them, and pinning them into place. "We're all very happy you'll be staying, it's been a much more pleasant place to work since you arrived."

"I'm happy I can stay, too. If it weren't for you and your grandmother I don't know how I'd have made it through the last few months."

Ruby didn't reply, instead focusing on threading flowers into the braids she had created. By the time she was done, Belle's neck was stiff from sitting in the same position for so long, but she couldn't say the effect wasn't worth it. Her hair was half pinned up with hot-house grown pansies woven across the back of her head. It was perhaps an overly youthful style, but perfectly appropriate for a daytime wedding this close to winter.

"So what do you think?" Ruby displayed her work proudly, letting Belle examine herself with a hand held mirror and the looking glass on her vanity.

"It's amazing, Ruby. I'd never have imagined something like this."

"Wait until you see it with the dress," Ruby promised, going to the wardrobe and retrieving the garment in question.

The dress was a stark, virginal white which Rum had insisted on, and Belle had agreed – anything shy of this snowy purity in an otherwise hurried affair would have been tantamount to an admission of inappropriate behavior. The seamstresses had made a fitted bodice in crepe, long sleeves and short gloves protecting Belle from the chill of late autumn but a low neckline with a soft fichu pinned into it set the focus of attention on Belle's face rather than the dress. From the bodice, a long skirt of white lace trailed to the floor with a short train. It was a beautiful, sumptuous dress that displayed Belle to her best advantage and the second she put it on, she was terrified. Seeing herself there, in this beautiful gown with a lace veil pinned just above the flowers in her hair and a betrothal ring on her finger it suddenly occurred to her that she was about to be a wife, and she had no idea how to do that.

She must have stared at herself for too long, because Ruby now took her shoulders and guided her downstairs with promises that by the time she returned her remaining belongings would be in her new room and they could spend the day preparing it however she saw fit.

She was safely ensconced in the carriage by Graham, thankful at least that Granny Lucas would be her escort. She didn't want to be alone with her thoughts. The rest of the household (minus August, who had been sent out with her husband-to-be earlier) was standing nearby, watching her leave. Granny whispered something to Ruby who nodded solemnly as her grandmother was handed into the carriage. Finally, Graham alighted to the seat up front and with a soft _h'ya_ the horses began to pull away.

"Thank you for coming with me," Belle said to the older woman, looking for a distraction. The chapel was only a short drive from the house, but time was moving too slowly for Belle.

"It's my pleasure," Granny replied, placing a reassuring hand over Belle's. "I'm sure you're nervous enough without having to do this alone."

She couldn't respond to that, as it had hit too close to the bone to reply without tears.

"You know if you have any questions," Granny continued, "you just need to ask. There are some things every young bride needs to know, after all."

Belle nodded in reply, removing one of her gloves to swipe at her eyes before the tears forming there could fall.

"I'm alright, really," she insisted. "It's just all been so unexpected, and I've not had much time to adjust. I just want to have it done with."

"That's good, then. You have a half-hour to wait, girly, and then this will all be over."

Belle nodded firmly, willing herself to believe the other woman was right.

It was a small eternity before young August Booth finally informed Gold his bride had arrived and the vicar was ready for them. He had given Booth the bouquet of snowdrops he'd hoped to surprise her with, he hoped she liked them. They'd not discussed flowers, an oversight he was sorry for now. They'd not discussed too many things.

Standing in the front of the chapel, waiting for Belle to make her grand entrance, he glanced around for the first time. The assembled consisted of two of his servants and his solicitor. Granted they all probably liked Belle better than him, but gods this whole wedding was a farce. They'd both put a brave face on it and planned every aspect to be perfectly in line with social convention except for this. He had no friends, she had none who would own him as well. It was as inauspicious a start as he could imagine – a wedding with three witnesses. His first wedding had been a grand affair, though, and that had hardly boded well for them. Perhaps the opposite would hold true now.

It was hard to hold onto his poor mood the moment the doors opened and she stepped into the light. She was radiant, and he found himself now jealously relieved so few people could see how lovely she truly was. Light seemed to shine off of her fair skin, the only color being the pink of her lips and cheeks, the auburn of her hair, and the watery blue of her eyes. He couldn't even smile, he merely stared at her with dumb shock written across his face. Gods give him strength, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get through this knowing that at the end of it Belle would be his. It was a thought that was terrifying in promise of happily ever after. He'd never thought to hope for this again, yet here he was about to swear his heart and his life to this woman who had never thought to want him in the first place. This was trouble.

He had no idea what the vicar said, too distracted by his bride, the blood rushing in his ears kept him from hearing. Somehow he said all his lines, made it through his vows, promised to keep her always and cherish her in his heart. It seemed a silly thing to ask of him, how could anyone on looking at her think he could ever do anything but love her ever again as long as either one of them lived?

For her part, Belle held up admirably well, vowing to submit to him in all things (as though he would ever ask it of her) and to honor him forever. She said the word _forever_ in a firm voice, as though reassuring herself of its significance, and he knew then that she was serious in her vows. Belle may not have meant for this to happen, but she had met the challenge and would not back down from it.

Finally, the vicar called for the rings to be exchanged – his a solid band of gold, hers a thin strand of gold that tucked against her other ring perfectly – and then he was given permission to kiss his new wife. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the hem of her veil, seeing her for the first time unobscured and it was as though he was seeing her for the first time. She still took him by surprise in her loveliness and it was all he could do to press a gentle kiss to her lips before his heart stopped working.

Finally, she was his wife. For better or for worse, for richer or poorer, for as long as they both should live, she was his wife and he was her husband and no one – not her father, not his former wife, not the king himself – could separate him from her now that he had her. He would never, ever let her go.


	14. Forces of Attraction

It was over. It was finally, truly, over. Gold was securely ensconced in the carriage to ride home with his new bride, who sagged against the seat with either relief or exhaustion. He knew exactly how she felt in either respect, if he weren't so nervous himself he'd probably be collapsed on the floor. Instead, he watched her, unsure if she quite realized it herself.

Mrs. Lucas had thankfully asked to ride on top with Graham to 'get some air' and give the newlyweds some time to themselves, and Gold indulged himself by watching Belle as she watched the world pass by in the window. She seemed completely unaware of him, busying herself by pulling out the pins holding her veil in place and tossing it onto the bench next to her bouquet once she finally freed herself. With a contented sigh, she leaned her head against the back of her seat, the sudden scent of pansies the only indication she'd crushed the flowers in her hair.

"Long night?" he finally said, wanting to be drawn into her world for just a moment.

She blushed furiously, glancing over at him quickly before averting her eyes.

"I – yes," she replied, not inviting any further discussion.

It was then that he realized he had made a mistake mentioning the events of the previous night in the light of day. What he'd meant as a gentle tease had instead embarrassed her. He could have kicked himself. His only excuse was that he wasn't actually sure he'd managed to sleep at all after she'd left him, his body tight as a wire and desperate for her presence. He should apologize, but daylight had robbed him of any bravery he might have possessed where she was concerned.

"I doubt I slept more than twenty minutes at a stretch," he finally said by way of explanation and conversation. "Too much to think about."

She didn't respond, still staring too intently out her window. He sighed, wondering what he could do to bring them back from this. It wasn't the way he'd envisioned starting a life together.

Too soon they arrived at the house – at their _home_, he amended. He climbed down out of the carriage as soon as Graham swung the door open, offering Belle his hand to help her down. It was literally the least he could do, and she accepted this much at least, allowing him to lift her down to the ground. He left his hands on her waist perhaps a bit too long, but she was his wife now – he was allowed these small moments. The revelation nearly floored him.

"Belle," he began, not knowing what to say but wanting to apologize.

"I should see Ruby," she said brusquely after he failed to elaborate, stepping out of his hands. "I have to help her finish unpacking."

He nodded, wishing he could find the words to explain to her everything that was in his mind, his terror at the idea of failing her and his elation at the idea of keeping her and every conflicting emotion contained therein, but he didn't have those words.

"I'll be in the workroom, then," he said quietly, "if you need me."

She acknowledged him with a small smile and retreated to the house while he watched. Mrs. Lucas and Graham each spared him a questioning glance as he stood there, staring at the door as though Belle would suddenly reappear if he just looked long enough, but eventually they each returned to their work.

He'd still not apologized, or explained anything. It was no matter, he decided, stalking to the workroom. She had come to him before, if she wanted him she knew where he was. He would make it up to her later, they had time enough now for everything.

"You look exhausted," Ruby had said flatly when Belle finally reached the suite she would share with her husband.

"I am exhausted," she didn't even bother trying to lie. "I've barely slept all week, and now that it's all resolved all I want to do is sleep forever."

Ruby made a face at her, seeming to come to a decision.

"Well, how about I get Ella to bring you lunch up here, and I can take your hair down and you can take a nap."

"But I was going to help you unpack," Belle protested weakly. Frankly, the idea of a light lunch and a nap sounded heavenly.

"Belle," Ruby scolded her. "You barely brought anything with you when you came here. I think I can handle unpacking a steamer trunk and a valise by myself."

"You may have a point," Belle sighed. "I did send for my trousseau, but perhaps I should see if my father will send the rest of my clothes and belongings. I didn't want to accumulate much while I was at the boarding house because I knew it was temporary, and once I was here, well..."

She let her voice trail off, because there was too much to say about her time at this house and none of it truly needed to be said. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she sat down on the edge of her bed.

Rather than speak, Ruby moved to the bellpull and rang it to summon Ella, busying herself rearranging Belle's belongings on the vanity until the other maid arrived. Belle was tired enough to submit to their insistence that she at least have a few finger sandwiches and some tea while Ruby carefully unwound the flowers from her hair and discarded them on the vanity.

"Are you going to throw them out?" Belle asked, unsure why she cared.

"I was planning on it," Ruby confessed. "They're a little crushed. Why?"

"Pansies are for loving thoughts," Belle said more to herself than the maid, picking one up carefully and brushing the petals against her cheek. It was soft and fragrant and she suddenly felt like she might cry.

"I'll put them in the water with your bouquet," Ruby offered, gathering them up into a small bundle and setting them back on the counter, apparently sensing how irrational Belle was becoming. "I think it's time you got a little sleep though."

Belle nodded and stood, allowing herself to be stripped out of her wedding dress and her stays loosened until she was just in her chemise and drawers before climbing under her sheets and falling asleep to Ruby's soft promise to wake her for tea.

Belle was not one who usually indulged in sleeping the afternoon away, but by the time she woke a few hours later she had to admit she did feel worlds better (once she managed to shake the grogginess off, anyway). Ruby had been right, it didn't require two of them to unpack her meager belongings. She really should see about acquiring a few more things now that she would be staying here forever. She briefly debated whether to ask Rum for funds for new clothes, or if he'd expect her to just purchase what she needed and leave him out of it altogether. She was leaning towards the latter option when it suddenly hit her: she had married him. This wasn't just a temporary measure to keep her nearby, she was his _wife._

This new realization floored her, she'd never been a wife before. She'd not even spent any time around other wives since her mother died. This was a strange new world she found herself in, and Belle was unsure of how to handle it. Usually, when she was faced with a dilemma of this sort her first instinct was to study it. Any mystery could be solved, but when research failed experimentation was in order. She somehow knew that any tome she could find on marriage would be of no use in her situation, so the only recourse available to her was trial and error.

It was these thoughts that filled her head as she dressed for dinner, her first time in a gown since her arrival, and made her way downstairs to the parlour. They had made no particular plans to dine together, but they had taken supper together every evening since Bae had left for school and she couldn't imagine he'd want to change that routine now.

Her care in dressing was rewarded when she saw the look on his face. She'd chosen her only other nice gown – a silk taffeta confection in a deep plum color which sat wide enough to leave her shoulders bare save for a hint of white lace. She didn't think she'd ever get sick of seeing him be dumbstruck in her presence.

Belle couldn't resist smiling at him as he unabashedly stared at her. It was pleasant to be wanted by someone you wanted in return, she had come to realize. She'd never wanted someone the way she wanted him. The realization made her flush slightly, for she would be in his bed in a matter of hours. She was completely out of her depth. He seemed to recognize the direction of her thoughts and averted his eyes from her. He fidgeted, smoothing his hands over his front and tugging his sleeves before finally working up the nerve to offer her his arm to escort her to the dining room.

Dinner progressed in a similar fashion, one or the other would relax enough to say something and a conversation would begin until suddenly the realization that they were expected to consummate a marriage would hit them at which point it was furious blushing all around.

Belle wasn't entirely sure at this point which one of them was actually supposed to be the virginal bride, because this was getting tiresome.

"I was thinking," Belle finally said. "If I'm to be here forever I should probably start to acquire some new clothes."

She had meant to save this conversation for another day, but she was desperate for anything to put an end to this bizarre little dance.

"There are plenty of dressmakers in town," he replied with a shrug. "Unless you'd prefer they come here again, which can be arranged."

"I can go to town," she said dumbly. Was it really to be as simple as all this? "I just wanted to ask you first."

At this he looked up quickly from his food, as though for the first time realizing why she might mention this to him.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, of course whatever you need, my dear. You don't need my permission for clothes."

She smiled at him, feeling herself relax for the first time all day. He cared about her, she kept reminding herself. He wanted her to think well of him. There were worse starts to a life together than that.

Dinner had gone well enough after that, they had finished in a slightly less uncomfortable silence than they had began in, and he had even managed to escort her out of the dining room. But when she had asked him if he was going straight to bed after dinner, he gave her a strange look and informed her he hoped to get a little more work done that night. He was trying to finish designing the casing of Eurydice's engine. She had wished him well, saying she planned to retire early and he had wished her a goodnight and kissed her on the forehead. _On the forehead!_

Belle was unsure of what he meant by that, _she_ had meant to give him an invitation into her bed and couldn't tell if she'd been rebuffed or if he had simply missed the double meaning to her statement. Either way, this did not bode well for the future. She had thought that he wanted her when she accepted the proposal, she'd hoped he would be able to make space for her in his life if not his heart. Were all men so infuriating, or just this one?

She was so busy being annoyed she didn't hear the knock at her door that preceded Granny entering.

"Are you holding up well, girly?" the older woman said softly, causing Belle to jump with surprise.

"Well enough," Belle replied, picking up a hairbrush and angrily brushing her hair out to distract herself. "I didn't expect to see anyone else tonight, though."

"No?" Granny grabbed Belle's shoulders and maneuvered her over to her vanity table, taking the brush from her hand before Belle could cause any real damage. "It's your wedding night, after all. You might be surprised."

Belle's shoulder sagged as the other woman began running the brush through her hair softly.

"My husband will be working late tonight, apparently." She was mostly successful in keeping the bitterness and confusion out of her voice, but not entirely. Granny grimaced, but didn't respond.

"I just didn't think my life would turn out this way," Belle nearly groaned. "When I accepted the proposal, I thought he'd asked because he wanted me not because he wanted to save me."

"Is that all?" Granny said with a quick laugh. "Girly, don't worry your head about _that._ I don't think I've ever seen a man want a woman more than he wants you. Everyone can see it."

"Then why he is upstairs working alone when I'm here?"

"I never said he was a smart man," Granny shrugged, sitting down on a stool near Belle. "Oh don't look at me like that, everyone knows he's brilliant. That doesn't mean that he's not an idiot sometimes, too."

Belle couldn't disagree with that assessment of her new husband's capabilities.

"I told him I was going straight to bed, though," she insisted. "And last night even, I went to his room and still..." she colored realizing she probably shouldn't have mentioned that but the snort of laughter from the other woman encouraged her to continue, "he still sent me away."

"Listen, girly," Granny said. "You're young, and unless there's something you haven't told me, you've never been in love before."

"I'm not in love with him," the words fell out too fast but Belle knew they were a lie the moment she said them.

"Whatever helps you sleep," Granny said. "Either way, he's not. He wouldn't admit this I don't think, it's hard to tell a new love much about an old one, but I don't think he ever really recovered from Master Bae's mother leaving."

"He's told me a little about her," Belle admitted. "I got the feeling it wasn't a big deal."

"It's not now," Granny clarified. "She's not been around for a long time and these days I doubt he'd even recognize her. Still, though, it hurt him something fierce when she left. He spent weeks locked away, this was before we came to this place, mind you. But he was locked away for weeks with his work and his son. Sold the old place at a loss to come here to lick his wounds."

"He didn't tell me all that."

"No, he wouldn't have. It's always hard being left for someone else. She was a little younger than him, pretty girl too. Everyone always said so. The man she left him for was taller, and very attractive. It's his pride that did him in, I think. He wasn't always such a bastard as he was when you came."

"He's not that bad," Belle insisted, but she did remember early on in her stay how temperamental he could be.

"He's better now than he was," Granny said, patting Belle's cheek lightly. "I've known that man since he first found his fortune. The only two things that ever made him better were you and becoming a father."

"So then why does he keep rejecting me?"

"Fear," Granny replied. "Fear of rejection, fear of disappointing you. Why does he do anything, after all? You're a strong girl, and I'm afraid you have your work cut out for you with that one. But he'll come around."

Belle fought down tears of relief, not wanting to give the wrong impression. Hope once again stirred in her chest that perhaps there was hope for them yet.

"Thank you," Belle said finally. "For everything, really. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Just let me know if you have questions, I know you don't really have anyone else to ask."

"I will," she reassured Granny, standing up finally and wrapping a robe around her nightgown. "But if you'll excuse me, I need to go collect my husband.

Gold was sitting alone in the workroom surrounded by failure and self-pity. He was a coward. He was a coward and an idiot and he didn't deserve to be married to Belle. Maybe he should have just accepted her generous offer of the previous night, and then the deed would be done and there would be no use in waffling now.

This was ridiculous. She was the one who was supposed to be scared, the one who was supposed to want to avoid the inevitable. Hell, he could walk down to the town even at this hour and find any number of men who would have been more than willing to take his place in bedding a young, beautiful, and exceedingly willing virginal wife. A wife who wanted him, who insisted she could even love him. He was sure a quick jaunt into town would also enable him to find any number of men cursing him for his good fortune. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

He wasn't even surprised when the door opened and she walked into the room. He wasn't sure if he had wanted her to show up or not until that moment, but once he saw her he knew it had been silly to ever pretend otherwise.

"Hey," he said quickly, rising to his feet. "I thought you'd be in bed."

"I thought about it," she answered, coming over to him and taking a seat on the one part of the table that wasn't covered in crumpled up paper. "But I missed you."

"Oh," he said. That wasn't a good enough answer, he knew. But he didn't have a better one.

"Rum," she whispered, reaching out and stroking his face gently. "Come to bed."

"You're right," he replied, pressing a kiss to her palm. "It's late, I should stop for the night."

"No," she said finally. "That's not what I meant. I meant, you should come to bed...with me."

Oh gods. He couldn't refuse her, he knew. He'd never been able to refuse her anything from the moment they met. But he was so afraid to disappoint her, to hurt her...

He tried valiantly not to compare Belle to Milah, because it wasn't fair to her and because he didn't _want_ to think of Milah. His wedding night memories, however, had been haunting him for days. He'd only been with a couple of women before Milah, once during his short career in the military and once at school, and neither of them had been women of so-callled "good repute." His memory of wedding nights and wives provided him with awkward fumbling, blood, and a bit of pain. Granted, things had gotten better between them later else Bae would never have been born, but this was one experience he was not looking forward to repeating. He would never understand how many men would only consider a woman if she were pure and inexperienced, although he supposed there were a fair number of men who had no concern for a woman's pain either.

"Belle," he said her name as kindly as he could. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Yes I do," she insisted. "I know as much as anyone can without having done the thing itself. I'm not as innocent as all that, you know. I've read, I've spent far more time around groups of chattering young men than most women – I've had to cleverly avoid a handful of them. I _know_ the words, I know the mechanics, I know what's supposed to happen. I want to. I want you."

He whimpered, the dam he'd placed around his feelings for her finally breaking as his mouth crashed down over hers. Once he began, he found he couldn't stop. Her gasp of surprise providing him entry into her mouth, and she threw her arms around his neck and held him tighter. He'd forgotten how good this felt, forgotten the simple pleasure of letting go.

He held her with one arm around her back as his other hand found her thigh and began stroking high up on her leg. She groaned and squirmed a little, which he took as encouragement as he slid a hand down to her ankle and hitched the long nightdress up over her knees, allowing him to step closer to her and to rub his hand over her bare skin. She was as soft and warm as he'd dreamed and while he stroked her thigh tenderly her other leg, now free of its confinement, was pressed against his flank, holding him closer to her. How could he have thought to resist her?

She was canted backwards just a bit, forcing him to lean over her or to stop kissing her, which was entirely unacceptable. Even when she finally came up for air, he began pressing kisses down her neck – little nips and bites that made her gasp and moan and press herself tight against him. He worked his way down to her robe, which had worked itself open during their earlier frantic movements. She was wearing only a thin white nightgown underneath, a pale blue ribbon threaded through the neck the only adornment. This was what an unmarried woman wore to bed, the sort of thing a woman never expected a man to see her in. The realization nearly broke him, but he couldn't stop now. This was what she wanted, she had made her choice more times than he could remember and he would not disrespect her by questioning it again. Instead, he reached a hand up and began caressing her breast through the cotton.

Her sharp intake of breath and the startled look on her face brought him some sort of masculine pride. So it seemed her books and vulgar schoolboys had not mentioned the potential pleasure a woman might find in her own breasts, wasn't that interesting. Whatever else he might do tonight, she'd not known this particular pleasure before. Well, perhaps there were other things he could teach her after all. His fingers began plucking at her nipple, rolling it between his fingers teasingly as his mouth worked against the skin of her neck, drawing the skin into his mouth as she purred her pleasure. In one swift move, he replaced his hand with his mouth. The full-body shudder she gave at this new sensation was the only reward he needed, but the leg that slipped between his and pressed against his cock teasingly was enough to nearly undo him then and there.

He continued sucking and nipping at her breast as she gasped and panted with pleasure under him. Perhaps he could do this after all. He slid a hand between her legs and was rewarded by her sharp intake of breath as he brushed over her most sensitive places. She was slick with desire – desire for him, of all people. He slipped a finger into her and found she was ready, probably ready enough she would barely feel any pain when he entered her, but he wanted to delay that still further. He would not repeat his past faults, would not inflict on Belle the things he knew he could protect her from. Instead he pulled away, ignoring her whine of protest.

He grabbed a stool and pulled it around in front of her, sliding her nightgown up over her hips until she was fully exposed before him. He took a moment to admire her before seating himself on the stool. She was so beautiful, pale skin flush with pleasure, hair unruly and nightgown tugged awkwardly down her shoulder where he had been kissing her, a slight bruise blooming even now from his attentions. She looked wild and wanton, and maybe he was just about the luckiest bastard alive right now because she was _his_ and she wanted him. She seemed confused as to why he was seated between her legs, but didn't ask questions, instead seeming to make a decision to trust him to do as he wished. He wasn't sure what sadist designed trousers, but right now he couldn't think of a less comfortable garment as he strained against the heavy wool fabric.

He began by massaging her inner thighs with his hands, gazing into her face to make sure she took pleasure from his movements as he worked his hands higher and higher on her body. When her breath seemed to pain her and she was squirming against his hands begging him wordlessly for his touch he finally took pity, dragging a finger across her gently. The noise she made was inhuman and desperately erotic and he pressed firmer this time, still watching her face as he inserted a finger inside of her, then inserted a second when she made nothing but pleased sounds. Curling his fingers forward elicited a shrieking gasp that initially startled him but her panted _yes_ told him he was doing very well. He continued to watch her as he thrust his fingers in and out of her, spreading them wide and making sure to hit this spot she seemed to enjoy as often as possible. Her reactions never failed to encourage him further.

Finally, when he was sure he would not hurt her accidentally, he leaned forward and dragged his tongue along the apex of her sex, tasting her juices and feeling her stiffen in shock. Something else she'd not known of. He smiled and pretended not to notice, continuing to lick and suck on her there as his fingers worked in and out of her. Her hips began to move against him, angling as though she were reaching for something. He kept himself still, letting her position herself against him where she needed attention. Her breath as becoming erratic, and was beginning to come in little high pitched gasps as he felt her tighten around his fingers. All at once, she came with a scream, her body shaking uncontrollably and tightening around his probing fingers in hard pulls. He almost finished right there, but fortunately held off. He didn't think she'd appreciate being left out of the one part of sex that it seemed her research had covered.

He continued his ministrations until she relaxed completely and her involuntary jerks of pleasure had finally ceased. He stood, and leaned over her, kissing her face until she turned her mouth to capture his, greedily dipping her tongue into his mouth as though she couldn't get enough of either him or her own taste on his lips. He knew the moment she felt ready again, as she reached a hand out and began to stroke him through his trousers. As much as he wanted to let her continue, he stilled her.

"Not here," he groaned to her questioning eyes. "Downstairs, in a proper bed, Belle. Let me at least do that for you."

She nodded, her eyes glassy with desire as she slipped off the table onto unsteady legs and let him lead her away.

Belle was completely unsure how she managed to make it downstairs without pitching over or making him carry her. She'd not thought she was a stranger to pleasure, but those were things she had never ever dreamed of happening. It seemed her education had been sorely lacking in places, and she couldn't wait to learn what else had been denied her. She had brought herself pleasure before, but it had never felt like that when alone, although she'd never really tested inside of herself to that extent before, either, she'd always been conscious of her maidenhead and its necessity. Had she known what she was missing out on, she doubted it would have lasted nearly as long as it had.

She was pleased to find that the servants seemed to have anticipated this possibility and made themselves scarce. She wasn't sure she could face anyone – even Ruby – as disheveled as she was now with her husband wearing her arousal on his face. They had to stop several times for her to kiss him, which didn't help progress particularly, but she found the vaguely citrus taste of herself mixed with the musky warmth of him to be intoxicatingly erotic. Finally, though, they reached the suite of rooms they shared and were safely ensconced in their private quarters. There was a brief moment where he glanced down at her, allowing her to choose where they would spend the night. His room had its charms, and she'd never really been in it before, but she had her entire life for that mystery and something about taking him to her bed just seemed like the proper way to be debauched.

"My room," she finally said, pulling him along behind her. He seemed more than willing to allow her any preference in the matter she might have and followed where she led.

Once inside her room, though, Belle found she had no idea what to do. Upstairs it had felt so natural, but here would require her own actions and her own choices. She wasn't sure she would know what to do. Still, though, she could be brave. She stripped off her robe, letting it pool down at her feet. He let his gaze roam over her, as though he weren't sure she were really there.

Rum's cravat was long since untied, but still hung loosely around his neck. This seemed as good a place to start as any as she reached up and unwound the silk fabric from him. He place his hands on her hips and began massaging her sides and backside as she undressed him. She found she liked this arrangement, making him stop touching her only long enough to divest him of his waistcoat before she set to work on the tiny buttons that held his shirt closed. With each one she removed, she saw him shiver just a little in anticipation. The idea that she was in control here, she was in charge, and he would go along with whatever he asked of him flooded her with warmth again. This was her husband, he was _hers_ and no one else's ever again. He would do with her as he pleased, but she could return the favor as well.

She bit her lip as she finally freed him from the cotton lawn of his shirt, his chest exposed. He was not, she knew, the blacksmith whose unclothed torso had been a source of so much fascination to her from the time she was about thirteen or so. Instead, he was lean and wiry, his muscles moving beneath his skin with every breath. She found him fascinating and beautiful, like a piece of artwork. Looking up in his face, she saw a shyness there and remembered Granny's words from earlier. How any woman could find someone more beautiful than him she would never know, but he would at least never need to doubt she wanted him as he was.

"Perfect," she said coyly, planting a kiss over his heart.

He rewarded her with a soft groan and a hand coming up to comb through her hair.

She looked up, begging him to kiss her, and he obliged again, his mouth slanting over hers and claiming her as his own. This new kiss stoked her desire again, reminding her that there was still more to come. By the time he broke away, she knew she couldn't wait for him any longer.

"I need you," she gasped, pleased at how his eyes darkened and his breath left him at her declaration. "I need you now, on the bed. Please."

She pulled away and pulled her nightgown over her head, tossing it onto a chair and pulling back the sheets, moving to the center of the bed. He seemed to take a moment to process her words before casting away his shirt and removing the rest of his clothes so fast it could have been magic. He stood before her, as though waiting for her approval before going further. He probably needed it, she realized, but even so she couldn't help take a moment to indulge in her first look at a naked man. His wiry shoulders and flat stomach gave way to slim hips and well-formed legs. But that was hardly the most interesting part of him. No, that honor went to the very impressive cock jutting out right below her eye level. She had never seen one except in scientific diagrams and even then those had been in medical texts housed in the university library in a section she was not supposed to have had access to, and in paintings that were, to put things mildly, far less impressive.

It bobbed slightly under her gaze, and Belle glanced up into his face. He seemed trapped someplace between lust and anxiety by her close scrutiny. She could reassure him, she should reassure him, but her mouth was completely dry and she couldn't speak. Instead, she reached out and wrapped a hand around it firmly. The skin was softer than she had expected, and feverishly hot. She gave an experimental pull and he made a noise like he was being strangled. When she looked up, though, his head was tossed back in pleasure and he groaned again when she tried it again. A bead of clear fluid formed at the head of it and she smeared it with her thumb. His hand jumped to her wrist, holding her still and looking down at her darkly. His breath was coming hard and heavy and held her eyes for a long time. Belle slid back on the bed, never breaking eye contact as she beckoned him down towards her. This time, he didn't hesitate to follow.

He was heavy on top of her, but not unpleasantly so. He held himself off of her with his arms, kissing her mouth and face and neck and everything he could reach. She spread her legs, welcoming him to her. He made a noise low in his throat and reached down, testing her again to make sure she was ready. Apparently liking what he found there, he moved to line himself up with her, removing his hand only when he was pressed firmly against her.

"Are you sure?" he whispered huskily, and she knew even then that if she displayed the slightest bit of reticence he would stop, and he would take to his room and never bother her.

"Yes," she breathed with a smile, her hand moving down his side to grip his backside and pull him into her.

He yielded to her pressure with a blissful noise that wound her tighter than a spring at its eroticism.

"Yes," she gasped as he lifted her knee to line himself up to thrust deeper into her, loving the feeling of him in the deepest parts of her body that even she had not yet touched.

"Yes, yes, yes," she moaned the word over and over again as he gained confidence, his mouth falling on her face and neck and breasts but never her mouth – never interrupting the string of affirmative responses to his touch.

As his hand moved to her clitoris again and began stroking and rubbing until her moans became yells became screams of bliss as white lights burst behind her eyes and she fell once again into a climax at his hands.

His thrusts became more erratic then, spurred on by her quivers of pleasure and her reassurances that he was wanted here, that he was needed and desired, and as the last waves of pleasure hit her, she felt him spill himself deeply within her. He collapsed, careful not to crush her, and pulled her to him.

They never spoke, both too exhausted now that the deed was done – sweaty and sticky and both completely unwilling to stop touching. Her head was planted firmly on his chest and his arms were about her back, holding her to him. Belle had only a little while before sleep claimed her to marvel at the fact that despite the stories she'd been told, she'd not felt any pain at all.


	15. Potential Energy

Belle was sleeping soundly, yet Gold stirred. He'd never been a very heavy sleeper, and being in a strange bed with a naked Belle wrapped around him proved to be enough to keep him from getting more than a few hours of sleep even after the exertion. He would sooner cut off his own arms before going back to his own bed, though – he'd never wanted to be anyplace more than he wanted to be in her bed. Now that it was over and done with, it had been such a silly thing to be afraid of. Of course his Belle – for she was his now in word and in deed – wouldn't allow him to simply avoid her. How could he have thought he'd ever be able to resist?

He kissed the top of her head softly, enjoying the weight of her in his arms, the soft tickle of her hair on his chest, and the rhythmic whisper of her breath. If someone had told him a year ago that he would be spending his days with a beautiful, intelligent woman who was passionate about his life's work and his nights in her bed he'd have thought them mad, and yet here he was.

He was beginning to feel dangerously close to content, and he could grow to like it. It had been years since he'd felt this sense of calm, as though he could finally breathe easily and a weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying had fallen from his shoulders. She had looked at him and called him perfect. She had touched him and taken him into her and gained pleasure from it. There was no justice in the world, because if there were then he wouldn't be allowed to touch her much less to have seen the way her cheeks flushed when climax took her. He'd managed to achieve this feat twice, and he had every intention of trying it again when she woke up. At this rate, he'd never get any work done again, but at the moment he couldn't quite find it in himself to care.

The fire that burned low in the hearth cast warm shadows around the room, it almost felt like a dream to be here with her. He was afraid to go back to sleep, because if it was a dream then he never wanted to wake again. Her hair fell across her face and spilled over his chest, he could feel the weight of her against him and hear her soft breathing. This had to be real, because even in a dream he'd never be able to summon an image this vivid of her – he'd never have even dared to try.

Suddenly seized by an uncontrollable urge, Gold pulled Belle a little tighter and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips – for one moment fancying himself the kind of man who woke the sleeping maiden in the fairy tales with nothing more than a kiss and a promise of a happy ending. He was no handsome prince, though, he was simply himself. He was old and lame and nearly insane, and yet she came to him willingly. She stirred slightly and blue eyes fluttered open as he watched her.

"Is it morning?" she said with a soft yawn, curling her body against his until she filled in all his empty spaces.

"Not yet, dearest," he replied. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine," she kissed his chest softly a few times, causing him to spring to attention. "It's our wedding night, after all. If either of us gets any sleep I'm fairly certain it will be considered an absolute failure."

"We can't have _that_," he chuckled as he rolled her so that she was beneath him again. "I wouldn't want to be the cause of your first failure."

She giggled happily, wrapping her arms around his back and beginning to kiss across his neck and shoulders. He began to run a hand down her hip, but paused.

"You're not sore?"

She seemed to consider this for a moment, moving her hips a little.

"Actually, no I'm not," she sounded a little confused by this. "That's strange, I'd heard to expect some pain."

He felt the smile spread across his face and breathed a sigh of relief.

"There are ways to prevent that," he said kissing her nose. He briefly considered mentioning that given her age it was entirely possible that there wouldn't have been any pain in the first place, but thought the better of implying that she had narrowly avoided being an old maid.

"Well, whatever you did it worked," she smiled at him, leaning up to seize his lips with hers.

He resumed trailing his hand down her body before slipping a finger into her folds and stroking the spot he'd discovered earlier. Her reaction did not disappoint, becoming instantly responsive to his caresses. She was already wet for him and just as eager for his touch as the last time. Gold watched as she writhed beneath him and panted in pleasure.

But of course, his Belle was never one to do things in half measures. She reached down between them and dragged tickling fingertips lightly over his erection, guiding him towards her. He was unable to resist.

This time their coupling was less urgent, but less gentle now that he no longer needed to fear hurting her. He drove into her in long, deep thrusts, and she dug her nails into his back and wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him deeper. He knew when her orgasm claimed her, because she shuddered and cried out and he thrust once, twice, three more times and was lost in her once again.

When he collapsed over her, her arms came around him and held him close as sleep overtook him. This time, he did not wake before the morning.

Belle stretched herself out languidly when daylight finally woke her from sleep. It had been an absolutely lovely night, and she had hoped for an equally lovely morning. Disappointingly, she was alone in her bed. Though, she probably should have expected that as judging by the rise of the sun in the sky it was sometime around mid-morning. She felt absolutely no guilt, she'd had a very tiring night after all. She would sleep as late as she liked.

A scratch at her door, however, left her scrambling for something to put on to cover her nakedness. Her eyes finally fell on her robe from the night before, draped lovingly over the back of an armchair where she'd been sure she'd discarded it on the floor. She smiled at this small reminder of his affection as she tied the sash around her waist and called out for Ruby to enter.

"Oh good, you're awake," the other woman sighed in relief as she moved to the wardrobe to begin pulling out clothes for Belle to wear that day. "You're needed downstairs."

"Why? What's wrong?" Belle's blood ran cold at Ruby's tone, somewhere between panic and terror.

"It's your father," she explained, pulling out a buttery yellow day dress that was one of Belle's particular favorites. "He arrived early this morning and insisted he wouldn't leave until he spoke with you."

"Oh, oh no," Belle moved behind the screen and practically threw on her undergarments. "Where is he?"

"He's in the parlour right now, we didn't know where else to put him."

"And my husband?"

"He's in there with him," Ruby flinched at the admission as though it were her fault that Rum couldn't resist poking the hornet's nest.

As a lady, Belle wasn't supposed to know the words that came out of her mouth at this news.

"They've been at each other's throats on and off the last few hours," Ruby explained as she ran a brush through Belle's hair as fast as she could without pulling. "I'd have woken you, but Dr. Gold insisted you be allowed to sleep."

Of course he had, because he didn't want her to have to deal with this. He was trying to protect her from her father in his own way. Belle couldn't decide if she was angrier than she'd been in ages or if she was completely smitten, perhaps both. Later she'd need to choose between slapping him or kissing him, but that could be handled after she got downstairs. Ruby twisted her hair up into a simple bun and pinned it quickly.

"Good luck," she called out as Belle dashed out of the room praying she wouldn't be an orphan or a widow before the day was out.

The parlour was deathly quiet by the time she reached the door, and she took a moment to brace herself against whatever scene would reach her on crossing the threshold into the battlefield that surely lay within. Pushing the door open, the first thing she noticed was that they were both alive. This was a good sign, really. Her father was sullenly slumped in an armchair and clearly fuming, while her husband stood facing out a window with his back to the rest of the room.

At the sound of her entrance, however, both men turned to face her and her father leapt to his feet. She was positioned between them, but slightly closer to her father by virtue of the layout of the room and it occurred to her for the first time that she had essentially thrown herself into this confrontation like a piece of meat being tossed to stray dogs. Her mere existence would be enough to rekindle whatever had been happening before.

"Belle!" her father reached her first, grabbing her arms as though he couldn't quite believe she were here. "Thank the gods you're unharmed. When I heard the news I had to come get you."

"What are you talking about, Papa?" she pulled away and moved towards Rum, knowing she must establish which side she supported before things got out of hand.

"This wedding," he seemed to think he'd explained himself. "I never believed you were compromised, my girl. We could have protected you if you'd let us, there was no need to let him trap you."

At this pronouncement, offered with all the sincerity in the world, Rum snorted derisively and stepped behind her to wrap his arms around her midsection. Her father paled at this contact, but said nothing.

"The only trap here was set by you," Rum snarled. "None of this would have been necessary had you left_ us _alone."

There was no missing the implication in the use of the word 'us' or the possessive way his hands touched her. She thought for sure her father would rise to the bait, but aside from the way he seemed to try to brace himself mentally she noticed no change.

"I'm here to take you home, my girl," he said softly, extending a hand to Belle. "It may not be too late for an annulment..."

"It's far too late." She could hear the wicked grin in Rum's voice as he said it, placing a swift kiss to her neck.

"...or a divorce," her father continued, his voice only wavering slightly.

How could he? How could he stand here and say what he was saying? Oh, granted she was plenty angry at Rum for escalating this by taunting him, but how could her father seriously imply that she should break her promise to be with Rum forever? How could he assume she would even want to leave without asking her? Didn't he know her at all?

"I'm not getting a divorce, Papa." She hated her voice for shaking but at least Rum kept her propped up. "And he's right, it's too late for an annulment."

Her cheeks were burning from the humiliation of it all, of being forced to inform her father that yes, the marriage had been consummated. Twice.

"Belle," Maurice looked at her pleadingly as he said her name as though willing her to come with him. "Your mother didn't want this for you."

Something cracked in Belle, then. Her entire life she'd gone along with his ideas, as it was always easier to submit as a dutiful daughter than to stand against him. She couldn't do it anymore.

She turned in Rum's arms to speak to him. She couldn't have him here for this, his presence would be a distraction for both of them.

"Leave us," she said in a soft voice meant for him only.

"Are you sure?" He glanced back at her father, clearly distrusting the other man's intentions.

"I'm sure," she said with as much conviction as she could muster.

Rum's mouth was set in a hard line as he finally nodded his acquiescence to her wish with a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I'll be just outside." This was said to Belle but directed towards her father, a subtle reminder that this was _his_ home and that here he held sway.

When he left, Belle spun to face her father.

"Should I call for tea, or would you like to argue about this some more?" She said this to reassure herself that this was her home as well, he was her guest and nothing more.

"How could you do this, Belle?" He seemed desperate to understand but she found that she had reached the end of her patience for explanations.

"How could I do _what,_ exactly, Papa?" she said angrily. "How could I fall in love? How could I marry someone you didn't choose for me? How could I follow my heart?"

"How could you leave?" he shouted.

She stood there for a moment, taking in her father perhaps for the first time as he truly was. Her entire life, he'd been this larger than life figure – tall and jolly, he'd filled a room with his presence whenever he stepped into it leaving her pushed to the margins. She'd never really thought of her father as a man before, as _just_ a man with his own heartbreaks and his own fears.

"Papa," she couldn't quite keep the scolding tone out of her voice but she was calm now. "I was bound to leave eventually, you couldn't keep me forever."

"If you'd married Gaston you'd have stayed in town, where I could see you."

"If I'd married Gaston I'd have been miserable," she replied. "And I'd been at school for years."

"But you always came home from that, it wasn't permanent. You were still my little girl."

"I'm always going to be your daughter." On instinct she reached out and took her father's hand. "But now I'm also his wife. You can't try to end my marriage because I won't be home for Midwinter this year."

"This never would have happened if your mother had lived, you know," he said in a resigned voice.

"I'm not her," Belle dropped his hand and walked to the window her husband had been staring out of. This, of all things, was her least favorite of his tactics. "You know, I scarcely remember Mama anymore?"

"No? But you look just like her."

"Yes I know," she said with a bitter laugh, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to feel the security she'd felt when Rum was in the room. Perhaps it had been a mistake to send him away. "I look just like her, except that she was a perfect lady. So kind, and courteous, and polite. And if only I were more like her..."

Her voice trailed off and she blinked back tears too late to prevent them spilling down her cheeks.

"But I'm not like her, Papa," she sighed. "I want more out of life than to be a wife and mother, I want to discover things, I want to work. I was never meant for Gaston, do you understand?"

He reached a hand out towards her unconsciously, as though by sheer force of will he could grasp her to him. Then, something in him cracked and he lowered his hand to his side with a resigned nod of his head, as though for the first time realizing that his little girl had grown to womanhood before he'd been ready. Would he ever have been ready? Belle thought of Rum and Bae, and how the former had tried to hold too close even as the latter was begging for his own freedom.

"I do understand, my girl. You were never really mine to keep."

"No, I wasn't." She wanted nothing more than to run to him and be swept up in one of his big bear hugs that had made the entire world seem to go away when she was a little girl, but Belle was not a little girl anymore and she would do well to remember that her father was the one who had driven her into this situation to begin with. He could not protect her anymore, for she was no longer his responsibility.

"He's good to you, then?" he said after a long moment, seeming pained by this line of questioning but she wouldn't begrudge him the truth of this.

"He's very good to me, Papa." She smiled at the thought of how good. "He treats me very well, or else I wouldn't have married him."

"That's good." Maurice nodded, seemingly convincing himself of the truth of his words. "That's very good."

"I am happy, Papa," Belle reassured him. "This isn't the life I'd have chosen to begin with, but I'm glad it's my life now. I'm content."

"That's all a father can ask for his daughter," he said softly, bowing his head. "I am sorry, Belle. I only ever wanted to keep you safe."

"I know," she conceded with a weary sigh. "But you refused to acknowledge my choices in any of this. I made mistakes, but they were _my_ mistakes to make. You shouldn't have come here and you definitely shouldn't have sent Gaston."

"I only wanted to know you were safe," he pleaded.

"And if I had been able to trust you not to try to reclaim me, I'd have let you know the moment I knew I was leaving. I'm an adult, Papa – I'm married with a son for heaven's sake – you must treat me like one."

He didn't answer her, and she wasn't sure if she appreciated that he didn't try to defend his actions or angry that he seemed to never have thought his actions through to their logical conclusion that one day she would be old enough to leave him.

"I think it's time for you to go, Papa," she finally said, moving to the door and opening it to show him out.

He nodded in reply, allowing her to walk him to the front hall. Her husband was lurking like a gargoyle on the steps to the upstairs rooms, watching the pair of them as they passed. Maurice pulled Belle into a tight hug under his watchful gaze, and she allowed herself this one last moment to remember her father as he had always seemed when she was a girl.

"You take care of my girl now," Maurice called up the stairs with a shaky voice once he'd finally released her.

Belle flinched a little, knowing her husband sometimes couldn't resist twisting the knife in those he disliked. She needn't have worried, though. Seeming to understand the scene unfolding before him and the earnest plea in the other man's voice, Rum said nothing and merely nodded in reply.

Maurice gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before turning back towards Belle.

"You'll write?"

"I will," she assured him. There was no sense in hiding now, really. He would always know where she was, and she would stand up for herself if he pushed again.

"I love you, my girl," he said with a sigh.

"I love you too, Papa."

With that final exchange, Maurice took his hat from Anton and allowed himself to be led outside to his waiting carriage.

Belle deflated a little, moving to the bottom of the staircase to see Rum.

"He's gone home," she said quietly. "I doubt he'll bother us again unless I invite him."

He was on her in an instant, moving faster than a man with a cane should be able to in order to wrap his arms around her and cradle her as she wept for the father she'd thought she had and the loss of the one family she had remaining to her. He held her until the worst of the sadness passed, leaving behind it only emptiness at the loss.

"Let's go upstairs," she finally said. "To the workroom, I mean. We've gotten nearly nothing done this week."

"Whatever you like, my dear," he said with a patient smile. "Anything at all."


	16. Interlude: Convergent Boundaries

So, to cut off any questions: This is completely intentional, but I get that it's confusing. This makes a lot more sense in about ten more chapters.

* * *

The trek was long and the boy was tired. He was more a man than a boy, really. At nineteen years old, he'd been in more than a few battles and faced down the armies of the Dragon more times than he cared to think about. His cousin wouldn't agree, though. She was twenty-three and firmly of the opinion that he still needed looking after despite the fact that he had proved many times over that he was more than capable of taking care of himself. She'd not wanted him on this last mission, either, but had been forced to concede he was the best man for the job.

He was also the only man returning from this mission.

He sighed and hefted his pack so it sat more comfortably on his shoulder. He wasn't sure why – out of all the men on his team – he'd be the only one returning home to his family, such as it was. Other men had wives and children and mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers who had been terrified to see them leave. They all knew the score, though. This wasn't the first mission of its type, it wasn't even the first he'd been on, and the war had dragged on so long now that no family was entirely unaffected. This was war, he reminded himself before the guilt could set in, and their side had been firmly on the defensive from the get-go. The guilt was the most dangerous part, really. Once you started asking yourself why you had lived and so-and-so had died when you had both had identical gear and training, you were already halfway to dead, halfway to joining the Dragon. He couldn't afford to think like that at all, not when the success of the mission counted on him returning home.

At least one of them had to return, because the information he had was of the utmost importance to their continued survival. And anyway, the families of his comrades deserved at least to know that there were no prisoners taken – it was a small blessing in this world, but they weren't in pain anymore.

He was close to home, after two weeks on his own. The Dragon knew he had escaped, she had to know, and it wasn't like her to leave survivors. He wasn't sure if he was being hunted, although a part of him knew that had the Dragon truly wanted him captured it would have happened. He just hoped that the knowledge he carried would be worth it if this did turn out to be a trap. He didn't think she knew the breadth of what he'd managed to uncover _before._ That thought, at least, kept him strong. And anyway, his cousin would be worried if he never returned. He was all she really had left anymore.

No family had been untouched by the fighting, but there weren't many families that had been hit harder than his. Maybe that's why she worried about him so much. She was the smart one, after all.

They had somehow become fairly important in this conflict, the two of them. Their family had stood against the Dragon from the very beginning, and had slowly been picked off one by one until only two remained. She was the smart one, the one who could find the answers and analyze the data. He was the brave one, the one people could take into combat. He was clever, too, in his own way. Clever enough to avoid capture, clever enough to know an ambush when he saw one, and clever enough to spring one of his own when needed.

Sometimes he wondered if that was enough.

No, he shouldn't think like that. Things were going better now than they had been last year, that was for sure. He had to keep some hope, because that was all they had anymore. But sometimes, hope felt an awful lot like not enough.

As he crested the hill, the walls of the city came into view and he felt his face split into something dangerously resembling a smile. He was home, at least. Or would be by nightfall, if you wanted to get technical. Hopefully, they'd see him soon and send someone out to come get him. He was awfully tired of walking.

His hopes were not ill-founded, at least. By the time he was within a couple miles of the gates to the city they had sent someone out with a cart to get him. He was grateful – fuel was scarce here, after all – but he could see from the grim line of the man's mouth that this would not be a joyful homecoming.

Still, he thanked the man for coming to get him. If he didn't have manners, well, he'd not shame his mother like that. She had always expected better of him.

"The mayor wants to see you, kid," was the gruff reply.

Well, that wasn't entirely unexpected but he had at least hoped to get a bath (or some time alone with a washcloth and a basin at least) before being called before the council. At least he wasn't walking anymore, and that was something.

Once in the war room, he reverted back to his training. He'd been taught deference as military necessity and manners on account of who his parents had been, but he'd built it into something of his own by now. He had always been fascinated by knights in shining armor and the old style chivalry that they had championed, and he held himself to that standard. Loyalty to one's liege lord was the cornerstone of his system, and the mayor was the closest thing he had to a liege lord. It had kept him alive, if nothing else, and gave him something to focus on besides how very tired he always was.

He was thankful to see his cousin was here, though. This would not be a pleasant conversation, and he didn't want to have it alone. He didn't think that made him a coward, though, just human.

"Thank the gods," she said, running to throw her arms around him and hug him. "You've returned. I've been so worried."

Before he could even open his mouth to tell her he was always coming back, and there was really no need to be frightened the mayor had already begun speaking.

"Yes, he's returned, but we sent a dozen men."

As though he needed reminding of how many had been lost. If the man only knew.

"What of them?" the mayor continued.

"They suffer no longer."

It was the best reply he had. It was the most honest one, anyway. His cousin sucked in her breath and hugged him again, tighter this time. The mayor looked away, as though he could force the statement to no longer be true by ignoring it.

"Did you get it, at least?"

It was said to the window more than to him, but at least he was able to answer in the affirmative.

When he pulled the rolled up papers that had all the data about Project Maleficent on it, his cousin snatched them out of his hand and gazed at them as though he'd just pulled a sword out of a stone. Maleficent had been the cornerstone of the Dragon's military since the beginning, and this was really the first lead they'd had on undoing what she'd done.

Two things happened, then, that would turn the tide of war.

The first was the call going out that scouts had seen the Dragon's forces nearby. It seemed he _had _been followed home after all.

She'd long known where the city was, but now she had to know who had stolen her plans.

"Oh my gods," the mayor murmured, still framed by the window.

His cousin was now holding the stolen data so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. It wouldn't be the first time the Dragon had marched on their city, but so far the walls had repelled her. However, nobody was sure if they'd be able to withstand a protracted siege and they were already stretched to their limits with the number of refugees within the walls – should any more be driven from their homes, things would become even more difficult than they already were.

They still had a few days, at the least. He knew there hadn't been a large army behind him, and whatever scouts had been there would need reinforcements before they could launch a full scale assault. There was time, he repeated as a mantra. His cousin was smart, she could unravel this mystery before the armies arrived. She would save them all, she just needed to go back to work.

He was turning to tell her this, when the second thing happened.

A blinding flash of white came through the windows and a low rumble shook the glass, and he instinctively knocked his cousin to the ground. The mayor ducked under the sill, but rose to peek outside once nothing else happened.

"What is it?" his cousin asked timidly as they both crept towards the window.

He had no answer for her, because the thing he saw defied explanation. But he recognized it, nonetheless. Yes, war was marching on them, but the gods were merciful.


	17. Unsolved Variables

Surprisingly, Gold found that work progressed even better after the wedding than it had before. He had expected Belle to be more of a distraction once she was no longer off-limits, but in fact, the opposite had proven to be true. Not that she was no longer a distraction, but now he could do something about it. In fact, while she was eager for his touches and attentions, she was equally excited about their progress on the machine. So while now they were far more likely to be interrupted by a quick tumble on the workroom table (or on one notable occasion, on the console of _Eurydice_), he found it much easier to focus afterward. He was getting more sleep now, too. Something about Belle being in bed with him (or possibly their other bedtime activities) made it much easier to spend the entire night resting. He was honestly surprised at how well marriage seemed to suit him the second time around.

The only real threat to their happiness was the looming danger of children. He knew Belle was resistant to the idea of motherhood, and while he was not opposed to the concept of a little girl with his last name and her everything else, the last thing he wanted was to trap Belle in something she didn't want. He would readily admit that in the first few days following their wedding they hadn't been as careful as they should have been. Since then, he had taken pains to spill himself outside of her but that was hardly foolproof.

No, the truth was that she would need to see a midwife. If only he knew who that was in this town. If he was to be honest with himself, he had another reason for not wanting to impregnate his wife yet, this one perhaps more petty than the others. Any child born in the first year of their marriage would (wrongly, as it so happened) be assumed to have been conceived out of wedlock regardless of the elapsed time since the wedding. The town gossips would have enough to say about their family with him being divorced, her living there as a single woman, and them falling asleep together at the village dance. He would not give them another reason to scorn his child, or doubt its mother's honor.

Belle would never think of that, she had been a lord's daughter and ladies saw physicians, not midwives. The problem was, a physician would never tell a wife how to avoid a pregnancy because that was the antithesis of what a wife was supposed to be for. The fact that the only local doctor was the same Dr. Archibald Hopper who had been dragged into the lawsuit by Belle's father only made Gold more secure in his decision that a midwife was necessary. That still left him with the awkward prospect of initiating the discussion.

They had since fallen into an easy routine, which honestly varied little from their schedule before. Meals were still taken together, and from breakfast until supper was spent in the workroom. Belle now took Wednesday mornings off from work (quite unwillingly on both their parts) to be home to guests, and he had been surprised at how many had come. She seemed to have befriended a ship captain's wife with bright red hair, and then of course the usual retinue of village matrons who made it their business to know every new bride regardless of the fact that she had been living there quite happily for some six months with no one even bothering to learn her name.

Gold was very sure he wouldn't like any of them, and only tolerated their presence because (as Belle had pointed out) it was expected of her to entertain them. Of course, the other local wives would be home for guests, as none of them worked and none of their husbands spent the days at home - even a proper gentleman of good breeding and old fortune (which he most certainly was not, thank you very much) would usually have lands to manage or at least a club to visit to keep himself out of the house. No, their lifestyle was very much abnormal, for which he was quite grateful. The best part of their new routine, though, was the nights. Where before he would usually work late into the evening before collapsing into bed, now he spent the time after supper in the company of his wife. In the evenings, Belle ceased to be his research assistant and instead became his companion and lover. They would play games (she was shockingly good at chess) or chat or she would simply read while he made notes and watched her. He had known she was clever but not suspected how much her sense of humor matched his own – she wasn't nearly as wicked as he, but she was quite insightful and more than happy to laugh at his biting commentary on their neighbors.

If he hadn't already been head over heels in love with her, he would have been in trouble. Which is why it came as such a shock to his system when he was suddenly no longer welcome in her bed. It shouldn't have been a surprise, really. Most husbands of their class didn't share a bed with their wives on a nightly basis (most husbands of their class didn't share a bed overnight at all) and it was one of those truths of marriage that the longer it went on, the more the passion of the early days could fade. Still, he had hoped for more than three weeks.

Belle had looked a little sad, even as she had told him she wanted to sleep on her own that night. His bed had seemed even more lonesome now that he knew the warmth of Belle's, and it was a long, lonely night of wakefulness.

He didn't see his wife again until breakfast the following morning, and some bitter little part of him was pleased that she didn't seem to have slept much better than he did.

"Did you sleep well, my dear?" he inquired, unable to stop himself from torturing himself at the breakfast table, it seemed.

"Honestly, no," she sighed as she poured herself some tea and began mixing in milk and more sugar than she usually took. "I'm too used to you being there, I could hardly sleep at all."

He studied her for a bit, trying to pretend like he was examining a muffin rather than staring at his wife.

"I missed you," she added, placing a hand on his.

He froze, unable to decide if he knew what she was talking about. If she missed him, why had she banished him?

He should have said something in reply, anything would have been better than dumbly staring at her hand where it touched his as though he were afraid it would suddenly transform into a snake and bite him, but he said nothing and eventually her hand retreated back to her side of the table leaving nothing behind but a strangely cool space where it had once been.

Breakfast was a strangely sedate affair after that, Belle no longer making the effort to draw him into a conversation and him left in the uncomfortable position of knowing exactly what he'd done wrong but not why it had been wrong. They had made small talk about their progress at work and the neighborhood gossip (which, he would reluctantly admit, was the one thing he enjoyed about Belle being home to callers once a week). It seemed that somebody named Miss Abigail Midas, whose father was a magistrate, had fallen in love, and subsequently eloped, with a young Mr. Joseph Frederick who had been apprenticed to her father. It was quite the scandal, as Mr. Midas had been attempting to marry his daughter off to the son of the mayor of a neighboring town. The only other interesting gossip was that a young Mr. Thomas Herman, the son of one of the local judges, had been seen in the company of a young woman whose identity had yet to be determined. This would usually not be grounds for gossip, except that she did not appear to be a lady of the evening and none of the leading families had been able to account for her identity. His father was, naturally, livid.

He knew that this was supposed to be a woman's domain, this petty discussion about the neighbors. Belle herself seemed ambivalent to most of it even as she was relaying the stories, as though it didn't occur to her that any husband would truly care about this, but Gold thought perhaps most husbands were idiots for ignoring the talk of women. There was value here, beyond that of the information itself. He saw the way Belle subconsciously imitated the various callers who had relayed these stories to her, heard their cadence replace hers. He, heard her opinions of them as well as the topics of their conversations. She was perceptive as hell, his little wife. He could see in his mind's eye that she thought Mrs. So-and-so was a complete flat for discounting one idea, or that Miss Whomever had gone just a shade too pale with the news that Thomas Herman may be interested in his mystery woman as a potential bride. This was information, and all information was valuable even if he hadn't learned why yet.

He also found it fascinating to watch her as she talked. She had a lightness about her, and when she spoke so unguarded about a topic (where she wasn't trying to impress him or worried about correctness) her entire face changed. It was a beautiful thing to watch Belle when she was totally at ease.

When breakfast finally ended, Gold was still unsure of what had just happened, but somehow felt like he had done something wrong, despite their easy conversation.

They had begun keeping _Eurydice_ in an outbuilding, once they realized that there was no way to actually move the machine besides brute force and that it wouldn't be getting any lighter - once the engine was in it, it wasn't going anywhere besides through time and the last thing either one wanted was to crash to the ground the first time they went to a period where the house no longer stood. And so, he found himself following his wife out the door to the gardens, or what would be the gardens once winter passed.

"Belle," he called out. "Wait."

She stopped and turned to face him, and he froze because she was surrounded by the first snow of the season and suddenly she was the sole burst of color in the stark white of the world in a pink striped blouse and her blue coat. She was the first and last vestige of spring and he couldn't help but stare at her.

"Did you want something?" she shifted uncomfortably under his close scrutiny and he realized he had been staring at her for a long time.

Yes, he wanted something. He wanted to haul her close and prostrate himself before her, beg her to forgive whatever transgression he had committed, and insist he didn't care if she never let him touch her again if she would just not banish him from her room again. He was, perhaps, a bit overtired.

"I didn't get much sleep last night," he said by way of explanation. "I've become used to your company, as well. At night."

She seemed almost relieved to hear him say it, exhaling and moving swiftly to embrace him. He felt the tension and fear leave him as he finally had her in his arms again, her warmth driving away the chill of the snow piled around his ankles.

"It's not for long," she promised. "Honestly, only for five or six more days and then everything can go back to normal."

He was so relieved to know she hadn't thrown him over, that the import of her words didn't hit him right away.

In fact, they were safely ensconced in what was supposed to be a caretaker's house but made a damn good home for a time machine that he realized that he had never, ever been so pleased to learn a woman was menstruating in his entire life.

He was a bigger distraction than Belle had really anticipated him being. It was amazing how fast you could become accustomed to the presence of another person at all hours, and how much their absence could affect you after so short a time. He was here now, of course, but frankly it just made her notice him more, which combined with her lack of skill in using tools could prove dangerous.

She had gotten better since that first disastrous attempt at tool use the night he had proposed, and using the smaller tools needed for the more fiddly work on the engine helped, but it still required a lot of her focus and having her husband nearby...well, she would have a few new scrapes for him to bandage later.

Belle was consistently amazed at the amount of work required to make the machine, but also at the ease with which it was being done. Once she'd worked out the theorem they would be testing and stripped the machine down to its basic components, it had been the work of a few days to design an engine capable of the sort of movement called for in her formula. Now they just had to build the damn thing, a task she was slightly less talented at.

It was times like this that it really helped her pride to remember that she was his assistant, and therefore only really expected to be able to follow his instructions and not to build the thing herself.

Matters weren't helped by how distracted he seemed to be, either. She would catch him glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking, more so than usual anyway, and it wasn't the way he usually did with lust he was barely bothering to conceal. This was different, he wanted something else from her but couldn't bring himself to say it.

Well, if he needed encouragement she could use a break anyway. Belle leaned back from the particularly tedious clockwork assembly she'd been poking at all morning and stretched. It felt good to not be leaning over a bench, and she saw him watch as she shook some life back into her fingers and hands.

"I need to stretch my legs," she explained, probably unnecessarily and more because she needed to talk than anything else.

"By all means, dearest," he replied, and she wondered if he was even aware of the soft smile that played across his face when he spoke to her.

She rose from her chair and leaned back, letting her spine straighten out before coming around to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders so she could lean forward to press her chest against his back and rest her chin on his shoulder.

"Rum," she murmured in his ear. "You're trying to work up the courage to say something to me."

He tensed a little, but didn't deny it.

"You've been trying to do it all morning," she added when he didn't reply.

She felt him chuckle at that, and he wrapped his hands around her wrists gently, stroking them with his thumbs.

"Observant as always, my darling Belle."

"So are you going to tell me or not?"

He sighed, leaning his head back a little so it touched her neck.

"Just because you're...we're not to do anything doesn't mean we can't spend the night together in the same bed."

She was glad then, that he wasn't looking as she knew she was blushing furiously. Honestly, Belle hadn't anticipated missing him so much or him missing her, else she'd have figured out a way around it. She still wasn't sure she would have been able to admit her condition to him, though. They were too recently married, and she had no real idea of the protocol of these sorts of things. Surely other women must have these conversations with their husbands, didn't they?

"You're right," she finally said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you yesterday."

"It's alright," he raised one of her hands to his lips to press a kiss to her wrist. "We'll probably need a bit more time to become used to each other before either of us can have these sorts of conversations easily."

She nodded as much as she could with his face next to hers, but knew he understood. He didn't release his grip on her hands, and she made no move to disentangle herself, wanting to keep him close and to be as close to him as she could for just a moment longer.

After awhile, she felt him fidget again but still he made no move to get away from her. He seemed to want to say something else and she could give him time if he needed it.

"There was one more thing," he said finally, the tension she felt in his shoulders giving lie to the casualness of his tone.

"Yes?"

"I know how you feel about children," he began in a rush. "And I completely agree, we should put it off until you're ready. But well, some of our activities...might not give us a choice in the matter."

"Oh."

It was all the reply she could muster, because really what else could she say? She knew the facts of life, and had known they were taking risks even as they were taking them. She had simply trusted in being very, very lucky. And so far they had been, but he was right. They were taking risks, and having so far avoided the consequences of them didn't mean they were safe.

"I'm not saying…" he braced himself and she could feel it, "I'm not saying I want to stop doing them, mind you. Just perhaps you should see someone about things we could do to help with that. A midwife, I mean."

She was, again, very glad that he couldn't see her right now. A midwife, she should have thought of that of course. She once again cursed her lack of experience for forcing him to be the one to broach this subject. She should have thought to deal with it weeks ago.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I hadn't thought about that."

"We were both very distracted, I think."

She couldn't help giggling at the amusement in his voice at his own innuendo, or the shriek that escaped when he suddenly tugged her arm and pulled her around to fall into his lap.

"So," he purred into her ear before pressing a kiss to the side of her neck that made her shiver. "Five days?"

"Five days," she confirmed.

She would be at home to guests tomorrow, and had every hope that one of them would have the information she needed to acquire. It would be a long five days, but she hoped the result would be worth it.


	18. Difference Equations

It turned out Rum had only been half right about their ability to sleep in the same bed without touching each other (and Belle still blushed thinking about it) but she was very glad she'd relented anyway. She slept so much_ better_ with him there, and she was so much more relaxed with his body wrapped around hers.

She was lying awake with his chest pressed against her back and his arm draped over her middle. The fire burned low in the grate, and her husband's soft snoring soothed her with the solid evidence that he was still here. Yet, she couldn't quite succumb to sleep yet. Her mind was racing with plans for the morning. Ariel was bound to pay her a visit, and she hoped her new friend would have some idea of who she could speak to about preventing pregnancy. As much as she had enjoyed their marital bed thus far, she was looking forward to being able to lose herself in the moment without regard for consequences.

But Belle had other worries, too. Winter was rapidly approaching, and with the return of the snow would come her new son. She hadn't seen Bae since before the wedding, and while they had been friends at his parting she couldn't be sure how he would react to her now. There was a difference between being the woman his father hired to help in the lab and being a mother, and Belle had no idea how a mother was supposed to act.

Belle wasn't the sort to be comfortable being completely ignorant of how to handle a situation. She privately wished she'd managed to befriend more mothers – she was sure Granny would welcome her questions, but honestly she wanted information from many people, not just from one. Unfortunately, the only mother she had met in town was the mayor's daughter Mary Margaret whose daughter Emma had been such a source of amusement for her husband at the village dance. Perhaps Ariel would consent to go with her to call on the other woman since Ariel always seemed in such need of companionship.

She sighed, and must have been tenser than she thought as the next thing she knew there were lips pressed softly to her neck.

"Aren't you tired?" Rum murmured in her ear, pulling her tight against him.

"A little," she replied. "I was just lost in thought is all."

He hummed a little in reply and dragged his tongue along the shell of her ear slowly, causing her to shiver in pleasure.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

She shook her head, pressing herself against him and weaving her fingers through his.

"It was just thoughts, nothing important."

"Well," he whispered, "if I can't join you perhaps I can distract you."

He slowly raised the hem of her nightgown until he could slide his hand underneath it to cup her breasts. Belle gasped at the sensation and stretched languidly like a cat, providing him unrestrained access to her body. He took her unspoken invitation to heart, pressing kisses to her shoulders and neck as his hands caressed her breasts and stomach.

She sighed her pleasure at his attentions as he pressed against her rear, letting her feel the bulge of his erection. Belle was gasping and panting almost immediately, his attentions having stoked her lust. She bit her lip hard, trying to drag herself back down with the reminder that it was still her time of the month and nothing would happen when he slid one hand down her body to hook her leg over his hips.

"Rum?" she gasped, any other questions she might have had quickly being cut off by him pressing the heel of his palm against her clitoris through her undergarments.

Belle groaned and keened back into him as he rubbed his hand against her slowly. It was a different feeling than usual, the fabric and cloths used for the blood dulling the sensation, making it not an acute mastering of the areas that brought her pleasure but instead a pleasant pressure that teased her with how very _close_ it was to what she really needed.

"Yes?" he whispered in a teasing voice. "Did you want something, my sweet?"

She found herself robbed of language, and instead reached a hand behind her to tangle in his hair.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, warm breath tickling her neck before his mouth came crashing down to suckle the flesh at the back of her neck so hard she was sure he had left a mark. She should probably be embarrassed by the sheer volume of red marks that dotted both of them since the wedding – without her high necked blouses and dresses, she was quite sure someone would think she had the pox – but seeing the little bruises that meant her husband couldn't control his desire for her brought Belle a strange sort of feminine satisfaction.

Rum moved his mouth down to press a line of soft bites along her shoulder as he continued his ministrations, rolling one of her nipples between two fingers as his other hand continued rubbing her through the fabric. He was holding her as tight to him as would be comfortable for either and was still grinding himself against her from behind and she could hear his breath quickening as she shuddered and cried out with relief as an orgasm flooded through her from toes to fingertips. She was still panting from her own climax when she felt him spasm behind her.

He rolled quickly over, keeping the moist spot on him from spreading onto her nightrail. She followed him, though, throwing one leg over his and cuddling into his chest as he teased the ends of her hair around his fingers.

"I think I might be able to sleep now," she teased, kissing his chest.

"Good," he replied.

She could tell he was still curious, even as he was trying to maintain a detached air.

"I'm not keeping things from you," she reassured him, drawing little swirls in his chest hair with her fingertips. "I was just making plans for tomorrow."

"It's nothing, dearest," he insisted. "I should clean up."

Belle moved off of him, getting to her feet before he could grab his cane, fetching a clean cloth and pouring water from her pitcher into a basin.

"I was thinking," she said as she dipped the cloth into the bowl and wringing it out. "Tomorrow I'll make some inquiries about seeing a midwife, and then Thursday morning I'll go see her after breakfast."

If he took exception to her sparing him the trek to the vanity, he said nothing, rolling onto his side and watching her as she brought him the damp cloth, allowing him to clean himself off before taking it back and leaving it in the bowl of water.

"That sounds like a good idea," he said cautiously. She could tell he knew that something else had been bothering her, but didn't want to push the issue.

"Well, my husband is a very smart man," she replied, flopping unceremoniously onto the bed and curling up against him again. "He's the one who gave me the idea, after all."

He made an amused noise and held her tight.

"My wife is a flirt."

"Your wife is very content," she corrected.

He was quiet too long again, and she knew he was thinking about Bae's mother again. She hadn't wanted to remind him of her, but her memory still hung like a pall over their relationship. Belle naturally disliked being compared to anyone else – especially in bed – but his natural reaction seemed to be to find Belle the superior of the two (and she also suspected he would stop doing it as their marriage aged) so she'd mostly come to terms with it. She still hurt for him, though. How awful must it be to always have that sort of rejection hanging over you?

"Do you think your son will be glad to see me?" she broke into his thoughts.

"Why wouldn't he?"

She shrugged as best she could before responding.

"The last time he saw me, I was his friend. Now I'm his mother. That's a bit of a change."

"So you stay being his friend," he replied, "and worry about being his mother if it comes to that. He's damn near grown, anyway. I'd think at this point most of mothering is just companionship and comfort anyway, and you're good at that."

She smiled and kissed his chest again.

"I hope you're right. I'd hate for him to resent me for stealing his father."

"I think if he'd consider anyone stolen," he rolled onto his side as he spoke, enveloping her in his body. "It would be you. He and I don't get on too well, after all."

"Don't say that," she insisted. "He loves you. I know he does."

"Be that as it may, we don't exactly spend much time together. You're worrying too much. Bae loves you dearly, and you've read his letters. He's very happy."

She sighed softly, letting herself relax into his embrace.

"You're right," she conceded. "I'm just all nerves."

"Don't tell me I have to pleasure you again," he said with a languid smile. "It's late and I'm very exhausted."

She pinched his arm gently before rolling over so he could nuzzle her neck and curl around her again.

"I'm quite satiated, thank you very much," she said drowsily.

"Good," he said softly. "I want you to be happy here, Belle."

"I am happy. Why would you think I wasn't?"

"I just want to be sure. You'd tell me if you weren't?"

He was serious, she realized. He was honestly worried that she was unhappy with him.

"Rum," she cooed, rolling over enough to be facing him. "I'm happy. I am, really. I have work that I love doing and a husband who worries if I'm happy enough. Trust me, I never really hoped for all this."

He offered her a soft smile before kissing her forehead and she smiled back, rolling over and finally succumbing to sleep.


	19. Selective Breeding

It turned out that Belle had been right to count on Ariel knowing the local midwife, and Thursday found her at the home of a local woman named Susan Bell, although she had insisted on being called 'Tink' (apparently it was a childhood nickname given to her by a now deceased brother). Tink was a bit taller than Belle, and thinner, with a pile of blonde hair on top of her head. She also had a gentle demeanor and a quiet sort of intelligence that Belle responded to.

"So," she chirped as they sat for tea. "You're the mysterious new Mrs. Gold."

"That I am," Belle replied. "It was a quiet ceremony."

"Yes, I heard about the ugliness with the lawyers."

She very politely did not mention the impropriety of the night of the dance, for which Belle was grateful.

"Such a shame to have to rush things like that," Tink continued. "But, what's done is done. What brings you to my door? Surely it's too early for a pregnancy."

"No, the opposite actually." Belle tried to gather her courage for this conversation. "I'm actually looking for something to prevent conception."

Tink hummed a little, giving Belle an appraising look.

"I assume you know that nothing is entirely effective," she said leveling Belle with a look. "But there are some options."

"Such as?"

"Well, most wives choose one of three things: a sponge, a womb-veil, or a baudruche."

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with any of those things," Belle admitted sheepishly.

"That speaks very well of your upbringing," Tink said with a smile. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to be very frank here, so if you're one of those women who's going to swoon at the first mention of marital intimacy please tell me now so I can fetch the smelling salts."

Belle felt herself flooded with relief at this, she'd been a little afraid of being talked down to although she'd never have admitted it to anyone. She wanted this information, and the idea that she was now considered able to possess it meant the world to her.

"It will take a little more than that to cause me to swoon, I assure you," she replied. "Unless you plan to draw some blood during the discussion in which case I may need a moment."

Tink offered her a smile in response before continuing.

"Basically, a baudruche is a device worn by the man during penetration. It fits over the entire length of the penis and prevents the seed from entering you. It's traditionally made of animal skins, but the newer versions are made of rubber."

"That sounds a little uncomfortable..." Belle had worn gloves made of rubber before in her classes when handling chemicals and had found them overly warm and they had a very high friction. She was not at all sure she wanted that inside of her.

"Some people do find them rather uncomfortable, yes, especially without appropriate preparations ahead of time," Tink replied. "Although men who frequent women of the evening use them in order to prevent the spread of disease, and the wives of those men should consider them as well."

She held Belle's gaze levelly as she said it, and Belle recognized the question inherent in the statement for what it was.

"No, I think I'd like to hear about the other two if you don't mind."

Tink nodded before continuing.

"Both the sponge and the womb-veil would be inserted into you beforehand. The sponge is just a bit of sea sponge with a string tied to it for easy removal. You'd soak it in either olive oil or vinegar and then insert it before your husband."

"And that works?"

"Fairly well, actually. There is some awkwardness at first and a little mess until you get used to it, but most women are fairly happy with it, especially considering how easy it is to acquire since you can buy the components at any apothecary."

"And the womb-veil?"

"That would be a small cup made of rubber that fits over the entrance to your womb," Tink said. "If it fits properly, it's very effective at preventing pregnancy and you'll not even feel it's there. It's a bit more expensive than the sponge – although I'm going to assume that's not a consideration for you – and harder to acquire as you'll need to mail-order it from the seller. I can get you the information if you're interested, though."

Belle considered her options for a moment. The baudruche was clearly right out as she had no real desire for rubber to be thrusting in and out of it, though she thought that the womb-veil might work well. The sponge also seemed a good choice. She weighed her options for a moment, sipping at her tea so as to delay being forced to choose. How did one choose between two options that appeared equally good on paper without testing them first?

Oh, right, she could test them.

"I think I'd like that seller's address," she finally said. "As well as the information on how to make a sponge."

Tink seemed to take in Belle's intent for a second before replying.

"Right, let me just get the advertisement out for you and then we can discuss the sponge."

Gold hadn't seen his wife since breakfast, and it was nearly dinner before she finally returned from her various errands. He glanced up from his work as she walked in the door, a huge smile blooming on his face as he took in the image of his wayward wife, her cheeks rosy from the cold and emphasizing the cool porcelain of her skin and icy blue of her eyes. She really was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and it was almost embarrassing how she took his breath away every time he went more than twenty minutes without seeing her.

"Ah, my assistant seems to have returned from her day off," he teased her. "How fortunate!"

"No," she corrected him. "Your assistant is still missing. Fortunately, your wife has arrived to distract you."

"Well then," he spun around in his seat allowing her to hop up onto his lap and throw her arms around his neck. "My wife shall just have to tell me what's so distracting."

He nuzzled into her neck and breathed her in.

"Well, I'm afraid I didn't get a solid answer from the midwife," she tried not to giggle at his crestfallen face before she continued. "I got two equally good ones, and I'm afraid some experimentation may be in order."

"Oh?" He felt his expression suddenly changed into a mask of anticipation. "Fortunately, I'm very good at that."

"Yes, I've heard very good things about your skills in experimenting." She glanced up at him with the most innocent face she could possibly muster. "It was in all my school books."

He was the first to crack, burying his face in her shoulder and shaking with laughter at her overly earnest facial expression.

"You're going to be the death of me, dear, you do realize that?"

"Hopefully not for a few more years, at least," she replied, kissing his forehead gently. "How have things gone without me?"

"More of the same, really." He shrugged, grabbing some papers off the table and handing them to her. "There was a flaw with the mechanism to mount the engine, so I've been trying to design a new one."

She glanced over the papers, drinking in the designs he'd been sketching and his notes written in the margins. He took the opportunity to examine her, still in her heavy coat and boots, but still so small in his arms.

"This looks like it should work," she finally said, teeth worrying on her lower lip. "What was wrong with the old design?"

"The bolts needed to hold it together were too big to fit the engine casing over."

"Oh, well that was a stupid mistake."

"A bit of an oversight on both our parts, yes. But it was easily fixed," he plucked the paper out of her hands placing it back on the table. "It'll take a few days to have replacements made, in the meantime we can always go back to working on the console."

She nodded in agreement.

"In any event, at least you figured it out before we attached it to the machine."

"Indeed," he sometimes couldn't decide what he'd done right in life to ever deserve her and yet here she was anyway.

"Anything else exciting?" she prompted, glancing up at him coyly.

"Oh! Yes, and you can laugh at me for forgetting when you see what it is." He reached over and grabbed a second piece of paper off his workstation and handed it to her.

He gave her a moment to read before she looked back into his eyes with a wry smile on her face.

"You honestly forgot to tell me your son would be home in three days?"

"In my defense," he replied, "you are rather beautiful."

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously before breaking out into a grin.

"You're forgiven this time," she punctuated her statement with a swift kiss to his lips. "But that won't work forever."

"Well he won't be at school forever, so there may be hope for me yet."


	20. The Constant C

The weeks until Bae returned went by in a blur of activity. After their oversight with the engine, things went fairly smoothly with _Eurydice,_ and now that pregnancy was largely not a concern, things were going even better between them in bed (and sometimes on the work table). They were making excellent time, and the day was rapidly approaching when they would have to decide on the details of how to test her. Rum favored a swift jump perhaps five minutes into the future, while the ever adventurous Belle wanted to see something new the first time. She could admit he had a good point, though, about not wanting to risk being unable to make a return trip. What she could not accept, though, was that he was going to insist on going. He had a son to stay for, but Belle had only him. If one of them were to not return then she would be least missed – he would never consent to her going on the test, though.

At least the return of Baethan from school had put a stop to the discussion once and for all, as the entire house went into a flurry of activity preparing for his return. Belle herself fell upon preparations the way she imagined most women prepared for the birth of a child. Between her work on the machine and overseeing all the rooms being aired out, Belle barely had time to worry about whether her one-time friend would accept her as a new mother. It turned out, however, that her worry would have been wasted after all.

The moment Bae alighted from the carriage, he practically bowled Belle over in his excitement to see her.

"Belle!" he exclaimed, wrapping arms around her and squeezing tight. "I'm so happy to see you! As soon as I received Papa's letter telling me about your wedding I couldn't wait to get home to see you!"

"I'm so sorry you couldn't be there," she said as he released her. "But it couldn't have been postponed."

"Think nothing of it," he said with a happy smile. "I'm just glad you'll be here forever."

She found herself unable to answer past the lump in her throat, and Bae finally turned to his father, receiving a long hug from the man.

"Bae," Rum had murmured as she pretended not to notice the tears in his eyes at seeing his beloved son again. "How was school?"

"Wonderful," Bae gushed. "Thank you so much for letting me go! It's been the most amazing time."

"I'm glad," Rum said giving his son a pat on the back. "You'll have to tell us all about it over dinner."

"Of course," Bae replied suddenly sounding very grown up. "I'll tell you all about it over dinner."

He was no longer the little boy that he had been when he'd left. How much older must he seem to his father? Belle felt a sudden melancholy at the thought of how quickly this child was growing up.

Dinner, of course, didn't go as well as they had hoped. Bae was still disapproving of the time machine idea, seemingly having hoped that marrying Belle would have calmed his father's obsession with it and disappointed that it hadn't.

Rum, for his part, was still hurt his son had decided to go away to school, and was attempting to hide it behind defensive arguments. It was, quite frankly, a recipe for disaster.

"But why," Bae said for the third time since the meal began, "do you _need_ to travel through time, Papa?"

"_Why?_" Rum said harshly. "It would be the greatest scientific achievement in the history of man!"

"That's not a reason!" Bae exclaimed. "Do you know what the consequences of this could be? The smallest change in history could change anything!"

"You just don't understand what I'm doing," Rum insisted.

"And you'd risk my life and Belle's on this?"

"I'm not risking anyone's life," Gold replied.

"Belle," Bae turned towards her. "Tell me you don't agree with this."

"Don't drag her into it," Rum shot back. "Anyway, she's been working on this with me for nearly a year now!"

Belle squirmed under their scrutiny. The truth was, she had never cared particularly about the machine. Her only investment had been in proving herself capable of doing the work, the machine had been incidental. She felt like Bae might have a point, but they'd come so far she hated to give up the work. She also really had no intention at all of getting involved in this argument.

It didn't take long after that for Bae to storm out of the dining room and Rum soon followed. She just hoped they were retreating to separate spaces, as she didn't feel like playing mediator to this. It was part of a conversation that had started long before she arrived and she couldn't even begin to know how to actually solve it.

She eventually grew tired of eating in silence (although silence had proved preferable to the shouting), and decided to retire for the evening. To her surprise, Bae was waiting for her in the hallway when she emerged.

"Did you need something, Bae?" she asked. "I don't know where your father is."

"He's in the outbuilding where the machine is," he supplied. "And I wanted to apologize for the argument. And for trying to drag you into it."

"Bae," she said as maternally as she could. "I am your friend still, you know. But I'm also your father's wife. I'm on your side, but I have to be on his, too."

The boy nodded, and smiled at her softly.

"I'm not used to there being three of us now," he said with a blush. "Or to having a mother."

"Honestly? Neither am I. My mother died when I was very small, and this is all new to me."

"I don't want my stay here to be one big fight," Bae confessed. "It just worries me that he's going to get himself killed or make something worse happen."

"Your father is a brilliant man," Belle tried to comfort him. "It'll be okay."

"Will you at least talk to him?" Bae was pleading now. "At least make him promise not to go backwards."

"I'll do my best, Bae, but it's not my choice to make."

"That's all I ask," Bae sounded so much older than his thirteen years when he spoke like that, and it was hard for her to remember he was a child when he was now a hair taller than her.

"No promises," she said firmly. "And don't come into the building without knocking after I've gone in there!"

The last was an afterthought, but if she knew her husband she knew that no matter how this conversation went it wasn't going to be one that anybody wanted Bae to walk in on.

Gold wasn't really surprised that Belle found him in the workshop. He'd half expected her to follow him out of the dining room, although he'd been grateful she'd left him to have some time to himself first.

"It's almost done, you know," he said by way of greeting.

Belle glanced over to where _Eurydice_ sat in a clearing on the floor before coming over to stand next to him where he leaned against the workbench.

"A casing over the engine, a little work on the console and she'd be ready to test," he continued. "Less than a week of work after eighteen years and he wants me to throw it all away."

"He asked me to talk to you," she admitted. "He seems worried."

"He's always been worried," Gold said bitterly. "As long as I can remember, anyway."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Why is this so important to you?"

"I honestly don't know anymore," he sighed. He'd known this question was coming eventually, but he still hadn't really wanted to answer it. "It started off as a hobby, something to pass the time. Then people started to talk and I just wanted to prove that they were wrong and that I hadn't gone mad, but maybe they were right. Maybe I did go insane after all, and they were right all along."

"You're not mad, Rum," she said softly, leaning against him and threading her fingers through his. "You're a bit obsessed maybe, but not mad. You worked it out, you know. We solved the problem."

"Yes but we haven't tested it yet, so we might as well never have done it," he growled. "And anyway, what of you? You came here for this."

"I came here to prove I could do the work," she replied. "And to save myself from marrying Gaston. And I've done both those things."

He couldn't contain a small smile at her simple statement of affairs, but he also couldn't stop the small worry in the back of his head that should he lose _Eurydice_ he'd lose Belle as well.

"We can do so much else, too," she continued. "There's no need to stop working."

"Belle, I just don't know," he replied. "It's been eighteen years of my life dedicated to her. How can I throw all that away?"

"He's your son," she said softly. "And it's your life's work. I'll be behind you regardless."

He sighed again, pulling Belle into a tight embrace. How he had wound up with her of all people he would never know, but he doubted he'd ever stop feeling incredibly lucky for it, either.

"She would have worked," he lamented, moving to the console and sliding the dials as he spoke. "Travel to the distant past, or the distant future...or even just to relive one perfect day as an outsider would. She _would_ have worked."

He slammed his hand down on the console in distress.

"But at what cost?" Belle was next to him in a moment, her arms wrapped around him underneath his coat. "If it costs you everything you've loved, is it still worth it? If it cost you your son?"

"I have never in my life," he said resignedly, "ever loved another person the way I love my son. Not my father, not Bae's mother..." he looked down at her here to ensure that she understood the meaning of his next statement, "not even you."

"I'd not have expected you to," she replied.

It was the first time either of them had spoken of love. She knew he cared for her and he knew she was fond of him, and that had been enough – until it hadn't been anymore.

"I'll stand by you no matter what you choose," she said, "He is your son and you are my husband. You both have my love and my loyalty."

She rose up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek, but he turned his head to capture her mouth with his. It had been close enough to _I love you_ that he was desperate to claim her as his own. His fingers found their way to cup her face and then into her hair, knocking pins loose and freeing the cascading auburn curls he had come to love so much. Her tongue was probing into his mouth tentatively, and he groaned at the taste of her. She was his, he knew, for better or for worse. The knowledge that she would stay and that he had her support no matter what gave him strength.

His lips broke away from hers, brushing soft kisses across her eyes and her temple, down her jaw to her neck. She gave a soft sigh, and he buried his face in her neck, pulling her flush against him and breathing in her scent. He'd have held her there for hours, drawn her completely into him until the fear and weakness trapped in him was driven out except a soft scratch at the door interrupted the moment.

"Come in," he managed to get out, pulling away from Belle and her mussed hair.

Bae peeked his head in cautiously, stepping into the building and swinging the door shut after himself.

"I'll just leave you two to talk," Belle said with a soft smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly and offering Bae a pat on the head as she slipped out the door into the cold winter evening.

"We need to talk, Papa," Bae said softly, standing as straight and tall as he could manage.

"We do," Gold agreed, pulling one of the stools out for his son to sit on and taking the other one for himself. "You're nearly a man now, son, and it's time I started treating you like one."

Bae smiled, looking younger than he ought as he climbed up onto the proffered stool, and it was all Gold could do not to grab the boy to him and hold him the way he had when he'd been a baby.

"Papa, this machine is folly," he insisted. "You don't know what you could bring back with you. There are diseases and insects that we don't know about, or you could bring them to places where they can't be controlled. You could change the entire world, you could make it so that I'm never born, or so that Belle isn't..."

Bae's voice trailed off, obviously not having prepared his speech further than that. Gold allowed himself a moment to feel proud of the man his son was becoming, a man who could stand up for what he felt was right. Perhaps he'd become obsessed, and perhaps he'd pushed too hard for this. What was the point of it anymore, anyway? He had his son, he had his wife, he could recover his reputation if he tried.

Did he still need _Eurydice _now that he had everything else?

"You're right," he found himself saying. "You're right, son. I don't need this anymore."

Bae looked shocked for a moment, his face splitting into a wide smile.

"You really mean it, Papa?"

"Yes, son," he forced out a smile. "You can help me dismantle her, if you like."

_Eurydice_ had cost him a wife, a reputation, and damn near cost him a son, and yet it was still the longest relationship he'd had with anyone or anything. He couldn't quite decide how to process the loss of her. He and Bae spent the next hour carefully disconnecting bits and pieces of machinery, his son relaxed in his company for the first time in as long as he could remember which in and of itself was enough to convince him he was doing the right thing.

"What about this part?" Bae asked, beginning to unfasten a cable connected to the engine.

"No, Bae!" Gold exclaimed, grabbing his son and yanking him away from the machine just as a bolt of electricity shot out, bouncing wildly around the room.

"Papa, what's happening?" Bae shouted as Gold shoved the boy under the table.

"Stay down, Bae," he insisted, trying to quickly learn the pattern the bolt of light was taking around the room.

If he could just get to the machine, he could shut it off. There had to be a pattern to it, he just needed a few seconds more...

He didn't realize until too late that Belle had come through the door, whether she was looking for him or had been attracted by the noise and the light he couldn't be sure. He barely had time to register that she was standing there, wide eyes fixed first on _Eurydice_ and before coming to rest on him, her mouth opened to ask a question she would never voice as the light struck her once and she was simply gone.

The machine continued to spout electricity for a little longer, the power source finally sputtering and giving out, but Gold didn't notice. His eyes still lingered on the spot where Belle had stood and where no trace of her remained. At some point he had fallen to his knees and his ankle screamed in protest, but he couldn't feel any of it. She was gone. He'd had her and she was gone and he didn't know when.


	21. Continental Drift

Gold wasn't sure how long he stayed kneeling on the floor, staring at the spot where Belle had been. It felt like years without her and he had the strange thought that time always seemed to run slower when Belle was gone so maybe that's how everything would feel now. Finally, Bae's voice broke through the buzzing in his ears, and brought time up to speed.

"Papa, what happened to Belle?" He sounded almost as distressed as his father felt.

"I don't know," Gold forced out. His voice sounded like someone else's, even though intellectually he knew it that came from his throat, because he had meant to say those words.

How could he be thinking about this? How could he be feeling so calm when his entire world had just collapsed?

"Did she get sent through time?" he heard someone say. It was Bae again, and Gold was dimly aware that there was no one else in the room. The voice shouldn't surprise him.

Gold couldn't answer, because suddenly his lungs didn't have enough air in them. Everything felt fuzzy as he began drawing deeper and deeper breaths, but it was never enough air. He must be hyperventilating by now, but then why was he suffocating?

He was too hot, and his cravat was too tight, and he was suffocating. He ripped the cloth from around his neck and flung it to the side before stripping off his coat and doubling over onto the floor as his breath kept coming hard and fast.

He thought he heard Bae calling to him again, but could scarcely recognize the sound of his son's voice anymore. The boy was too frantic and Gold's mind was running to catch up. The door opened and shut, but it was too much work for him to look and see who was there – he hoped it was his son leaving, because he was sure he must be dying and he didn't want Bae to see it. All he had to do now was let nature run its course.

But no, Bae was still there and was rolling him over and suddenly Gold was very cold and he realized that Bae had dropped an armful of snow onto his father's head and chest. The icy wetness snapped him back to the present as Bae knelt down next to him and then slapped him across the face.

"Breathe slower," Bae yelled, still searching his face. Only when Gold seemed to have met inspection did Bae speak again. "Now, can you focus?"

"Y – yes," he got out. "Thank you, son."

"Good. Now, what happened to Belle?"

"I don't know," Gold admitted. "The machine seems to have been spitting energy out of the engine. If the machine works, she was probably sent through time."

"Alright," Bae said slowly. "So then we just put it back together and go and get her."

"It's not that simple," Gold explained. "There wasn't anything programmed into the machine. I don't know when she would have been sent to."

"Think, Papa," Bae commanded. "You made this thing, you must know how it works."

"Nothing works without Belle," he said in resignation and Bae slapped him again.

"This isn't helping, you jackass!" Bae was screaming now and Gold thought he might have seen tears in his son's eyes. "I can't find her without you."

"You're right," Gold finally said. He was the adult, he had to be strong for his son even though right now he just wanted to stop. "I put in some dates earlier, before it went off. Maybe...maybe she's in one of those places."

"Do you remember what they were?"

"I think so," he said. "I need to write them down though, before I forget."

"Right, okay," Bae went to the workbench and grabbed a paper and pencil. "Write them down. Write down everything you remember."

Bae, it turned out, was a better lab assistant when he was motivated by the work than he had been as a child, and he was better with the tools than Belle had been, but Gold still couldn't shake the impression that had Belle been there things would have gone smoother. Not that Gold wished it was Bae who had been lost (he would rather have died than have that happen), but if Belle had been there he knew that they would have made more progress.

It was long after midnight before Bae finally stopped his father, insisting that they'd not get anything else useful done as long as he was so exhausted. Gold had reluctantly agreed, following the path to Belle's door he'd followed every night of their married life. Tomorrow he'd have to talk to the servants, although he thought Bae must have said something to them by now. Gold was just hungry and tired and desperately needed his wife.

As he pushed open the door to her room, he thought for just a moment she might be there and be waiting for him like she always was, but her chaise was empty. The book she had been reading was still sitting on the floor next to it, and her nightgown was draped over the dressing screen waiting for her to put it on. Her brush sat on her vanity, long brown hair still tangled in the bristles. Little touches of Belle everywhere, but she may never be in this room again and yet at the same time she was still here in a million little moments throughout their past. His head hurt to think of the implications of the time machine he had created.

Gold turned the key in the lock, nobody would interrupt his grief tonight as he seized Belle's nightgown off the screen and curled around it in her bed. It still smelled of her, and he wept into her pillow. Sobs wracked his body until he simply could not cry anymore and eventually fell into a dreamless sleep.

It ended up being close to a week before _Eurydice_ was back to usable condition. A week without Belle. Gold barely spoke to anyone including Bae, barely ate, and cried himself to sleep nightly. Belle's scent had begun to fade from the bed.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could continue at that pace. Bae was worried, he could tell from how the boy watched him all the time. But she was finished, now. Finally finished and he could go fetch Belle and everything would be better again. Granted, the navigational system hadn't been entirely reparable. They had made the decision not to replace it for fear of losing his pre-programmed dates and times. It was risky, but he was going to have to go through each time period in the order he'd placed them in the machine. He'd not been willing to risk arriving a few hours ahead of Belle and accidentally leaving her there. It had taken some convincing, but Bae had agreed.

"Be careful, Papa," Bae said. "Just find her and bring her back, please."

Bae was so young. He forgot it sometimes, he was constantly caught between seeing his son as a small child and a young man. Bae was between a child and a man, really. He'd been so grown up these last few days, the one thing keeping his father moving.

"Bae..."

Gold tried to think of words to give his son. He wanted to apologize for not being there when Bae needed him, for being so obsessed with this machine, and for failing to realize when it was time to let the boy go. He wanted to reassure him that he would find Belle and would come back and that everything would be better when he did. He wanted to promise that no matter what, this would never happen again. He wanted to tell his son that he was proud of the man that he was becoming and that Bae was the most important thing in his life. There was too much to say, and it all froze on his tongue as he looked at the child he'd always wanted and never really known how to love.

"Go find her, Papa," Bae said softly, as though he was sensing everything that his father wanted to say. "Find Belle and bring her back here."

Gold smiled at his son, and nodded. His hands went to the controls and he began pulling the various levers and knobs that would begin his journey as Bae slowly backed away.

The last thing he saw before the strange flash of golden light was his son's smiling face, and then Bae was gone and Gold was somewhere else entirely.

It was hot, he realized. Hotter and more humid than he ever remembered being before. He clambered out of the machine, looking around. He knew that, theoretically at least, he should have arrived in tandem with Belle. However, there were bits of detritus from his lab scattered about which must have been sent in one or more of the various blasts from the machine, and he couldn't risk her having wandered off because he was a few minutes too late.

He looked around in all directions, taking in the giant flora that she could be hidden behind. This could take ages.

"Belle!" he shouted. "Belle?"

No response. He walked a circuit around the machine just in case he had missed some sign of her, but found nothing. When he returned to _Eurydice_, however, he found she wasn't alone. A man-sized lizard was prowling around nearby and he froze. He had to get to that machine – he needed it to save Belle and to return to his son, but at the same time he had no idea how to get the lizard away from it.

The lizard made a strange, high pitched humming noise calling more members of what appeared to be its herd or flock or whatever these things moved in. Gold didn't want to risk calling attention to himself by movement, but he was painfully aware that he was out in the open and easily spotted should one of them glance over. He had no illusions about not being an easy meal.

When they were all looking away, he took the risk and ducked into a hollow in one of the huge trees nearby. It wasn't protected, but it at least was a hiding place. There were giant insects crawling about and at one point he had to bite his hand to keep from crying out when one of them began moving across his leg. He never should have come here, and for all he knew the monsters outside were destroying his machine. For all he really knew, Belle had been killed by one of those beasts and all that would remain of her were bits of paper that would be washed away with the next rain, leaving no trace of themselves behind.

He pulled out his pocket knife then, because the thought of Belle leaving no trace of her existence was too much. He began carving into the tree – tentatively at first, but soon with more confidence. Bae would be angry with him, but Belle deserved some memorial in case she was never found. When he was done and the words _Belle Gold_ were safely housed in the tree where they would stand for at least a few hundred more years, only then did he risk a glance out of his hiding spot. The lizards had moved on a bit and he could see them about twenty yards away, sniffing at the dirt and making those same strange calls. This was his chance. If he could run just a little bit on his leg, he might be able to make it to the machine and send himself to his next destination safely.

Bracing himself for the sprint, Gold took a deep breath and limped as fast as he could towards his destination. The creatures saw him, of course, one of them taking up the call to his fellows as Gold settled himself at _Eurydice's_ console and began the process to make the jump to his next destination. Belle wasn't here, he had to accept that. Perhaps this next place would be of more help to him, but clearly this one was failed from the beginning.

He could hear the monster's noises getting closer and closer as the gold overtook his vision and suddenly the strange lizards were gone, and Gold was safe. For now, anyway.


	22. Genetics

The flash of light left him back in the courtyard of his house, and he thought for a moment there must have been an accident that sent him home. But no, it was clearly spring and not winter (although no flowers grew in the gardens), and the cottage the machine once sat in seemed to have been removed. The air smelled rather strongly of ozone and chemicals. This was his house, he decided, long after he should be dead and gone. Regardless, there was no Belle here and after his encounter with the lizards he had no inclination to stick around in lab detritus and ruins.

He was in the process of turning the dials to his next destination when a loud noise startled him. Glancing up, he saw the back door swinging on its hinges as a young man – a boy, really, perhaps a few years older than Bae – sprinted across the lawn towards him. The boy was flanked by two women, one of whom had strawberry blonde hair while the other was clearly of Oriental extraction.

"Wait!" the boy yelled at him. "Don't go yet!"

Gold had no idea what stayed his hand – his fingers were on the lever – but something about these strangers had him leaning back from the console warily and waiting for them to approach. The boy came to a halt directly in front of him, doubling over and panting for breath as the two women skidded to a stop as well.

"Henry," the lighter-haired woman scolded. "You should have waited for us!"

Henry looked up at her grinning wide, and Gold saw a smattering of freckles that betrayed his youth.

"I knew it was fine, Aurora," he said with an ebullient giggle. "We both knew it would be."

Aurora didn't look pleased at all with his statement, but then she was staring at _Eurydice_ with awe in her eyes.

"Henry, do you know what this is?" she murmured, reaching out a finger and just barely brushing the wood of the console. Whether or not Henry had surmised the purpose of the machine, it was clear Aurora knew what it was and that in and of itself was reason enough to have stayed. "That means he's..."

She broke off, staring at Gold as though still not believing he was really there.

Henry was practically bouncing with his excitement over the entire event.

"It does!" Henry exclaimed. "It does and he is!"

"Alright," the second woman finally snapped. "You two are going to have to tell me what the hell is going on because I have absolutely no clue."

Gold could only nod in mute agreement with her assessment of the situation. He wasn't entirely sure these two weren't at least slightly mad.

Aurora turned and looked like she was about to explain when a shrill noise shrieked through the air, followed by a loud _bang_. Gold looked for the source, finding a plume of smoke and a shower of sparks in the sky above the house.

"They've found us," Henry said, sounding terrified. "Quick, everybody get inside."

Gold was about to demand answers, but the unidentified woman grabbed his arm and dragged him after Aurora and Henry. He was too startled by this turn of events to protest, instead allowing himself to be dragged inside after the strange trio and away from his machine. Once they were safely inside and the door bolted, though, he remembered himself.

"Will somebody _please_ tell me what is going on?" he glanced back and forth between them even as they were buffeted on all sides by throngs of people who apparently had the same idea of how to hide. "Who are you people? Who found us? How do you know me?"

Henry and Aurora looked at each other, but the second woman was the one who answered his questions.

"My name is Mulan," she said, extending a hand and shaking his when he took it. "This is Henry and Aurora. You're at a camp for survivors of a great plague created by a mad scientist. As for the rest of it, I don't know."

Alright, well that was a lot of information to absorb but he could appreciate Mulan's candor if not exactly her delivery.

"What kind of plague? What year is this?"

Mulan opened her mouth to answer, but Aurora stopped her.

"We can't tell you the year," Aurora explained. "You're Rumsby Gold, aren't you? If you know too much information it could change the past, I'm sorry."

"What do you mean change the past?" Mulan exclaimed, staring openly at him.

"He's from the past, Mulan," Aurora continued. "We can talk about it later, when we're alone."

"Speaking of being alone," Henry said, "you have some work to do before her troops get here. I can explain the rest to him, but you _have_ to decipher those pages before she gets here."

Aurora nodded, giving Gold one last long look before turning and dashing off with Mulan hot on her heels.

"Aurora is my cousin and one of our top scientists," Henry explained. "Her fiance, Philip, was one of our commanders before he was...taken."

"And Mulan?"

"Mulan was his closest lieutenant. They both took his absence pretty hard I guess, they've hardly been apart since."

"And who are you in all this?"

"I'm just a foot soldier," Henry shrugged. "But I need to take you to the mayor. Your arrival is the first good news we've had in months."

"Who am I to you?" Gold called out as Henry began to lead him towards what had once been his work room.

"You're our salvation, Dr. Gold."

Gold's cane had been forgotten in the machine, and his limp wasn't helped at all by the ascent up the stairs. Henry had dutifully come to his side to help him, which didn't help Gold's mood particularly. He still had no idea what the hell was going on when he finally reached the upper room. There, he found a veritable hive of activity. There were people scurrying around a table, seemingly trying to arrange battle plans and refugees. A lone figure stood at the window where Gold himself had often stood, overlooking the front of the house.

"Mr. Mayor!" Henry shouted over the din, jostling through the crowd to reach the one still man at the window. Something about the boy reminded Gold of David Nolan, he realized. Henry just had that same sort of forthright charm, and Gold idly wondered if he might be descended from the Nolan stock.

It took Gold a bit longer to reach the window than it had Henry, and by then the other two were talking in low tones. Gold had missed the beginning of their conversation, but when he got within earshot he didn't think that the added context would have helped much.

"I'm telling you," Henry said. "He's the one! It was all true, we're saved."

"And I'm telling _you_," the mayor replied angrily. "It's just too late, Henry. Look!"

The man yanked Henry by the arm, turning him to face out the window. Gold moved to stand next to them, and for the first time he saw why Henry seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Outside, there were hundreds of people huddled in makeshift camps. What had once been his front lawn was now surrounded by a high wall, clearly designed more for safety than any aesthetic purpose. Beyond the wall, he could see strange metal contraptions bearing a stylized image of a green dragon on the side. They seemed to be moving into some sort of formation, and he didn't need to know what they were to know that they spelled trouble for the people living here.

"But it has to work," Henry insisted. "It has to! You know the story as well as I do!"

"It's just a story, Henry!" The man was becoming agitated. "It's all just a story..."

Gold knew what was coming somehow, putting his arm in front of Henry to pull the boy back before the mayor could even pull out his weapon. The entire room went dead silent as the mayor continued his speech.

"They found us...there's no coming back from that! Don't you see? They won. _She_ won!"

"What about all those people down there?" Henry cried out, gesturing to the camps below. "They trust you to save them. We can't leave them helpless!"

"I'm just a man, Henry," the mayor said simply. "We're all just men. What hope do men have against pure evil? They're going to die, too. Just like the rest of us..."

He raised his weapon, then, and Gold had just enough time to look away before the man fired his weapon. There was a loud noise, and Gold had enough experience in the military to know exactly he would see when he turned back around. The mayor was laying on the floor, his head resting in a pool of blood and tissue. Gold had never even learned the man's name, but he had borne witness to his death.

The room had gone eerily silent, and then everyone began to talk at once.

"He didn't believe," Henry murmured. "He failed us."

"Now what do we do?" someone shouted out.

"He was right, there's no way to win."

"So we all just kill ourselves?" a third voice broke in.

"Would you rather serve her?"

From there the conversation deteriorated into shouts and crying. These people were supposed to be their leaders? Henry hadn't moved since his earlier outburst, instead staring at the body in shock.

"Come on, son," Gold tried to turn Henry away, although he was fairly sure this wasn't his first dead body. "You don't want to see that."

"We have to fight," Henry said.

"What?" Gold asked, not sure he had quite understood what was going on. He just wanted to go back downstairs, climb into his machine, and find his wife. He'd never asked for any of this, but now here he was.

"We have to fight!" Henry shouted over the din, climbing up onto a table.

"We haven't got a chance!" someone else called out. "Best to make peace with your gods now and call it even."

"There's a time to pray," Henry replied. "But there's a time to fight, too. We can't give up just because we've been discovered! We have her plans – Aurora is working on deciphering them right now! We can undo Project Maleficent! We can save ourselves!"

"But we don't have enough weapons," someone else tried to explain. "And we have civilians to protect."

"Anything can be a weapon if you're holding it right," Henry challenged. "And you're right, we do have civilians. We were all civilians. There's not a military officer left among us. But we have to fight them all the same."

Henry's words seemed to be having their desired effect, the people in the room seemed to rally together.

"And we have him!" Henry pointed at Gold. "The Traveler has come and we all know how this story ends!"

This seemed to be the right thing to say, resulting in every eye in the room turning to face Gold as a low murmur went up between the assembled. Henry was positively glowing with the success of his speech.

Gold grimaced, grabbing the boy by the arm and hauling him down off the table and pulling him out of the room even as the assembled began going back to their previous jobs, as though forgetting the dead body in their midst.

"I think," he said as soon as they were alone. "You owe me an explanation."


	23. Quantum Entanglement

Henry led Gold into what had once been a spare bedroom, offering him a seat before taking one himself. The boy seemed struggling for words, and Gold had some sympathy but refused to speak first. Whatever was going on, he needed to know what the boy had to say, and he was becoming annoyed with their evasiveness. Henry sat for a moment, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Gold drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, waiting for the boy to begin.

"It's a story," Henry finally blurted out. "It's a story that's been going through my family forever, really. Longer than anyone knows."

Henry looked at Gold expectantly, seeming to deflate a little at the other man's lack of response.

"Anyway," Henry continued. "There's a man in this story – he's known as 'the Traveler' – and the story says that there's an evil force called 'the Dragon' who will come to destroy us, but when things are darkest the Traveler comes through time to save us all."

"And you think that I'm this man – this Traveler?"

Henry nodded earnestly, looking so damn young.

"You came through time, didn't you?" his face lit up when Gold didn't respond. "See? I knew it. It has to be you."

"But that doesn't explain what's going on, who's this Dragon? How am I supposed to save you?"

"She's a woman," Henry said finally. "She goes by Zelena, but nobody knows if that's her real name or not. We call her the Dragon because she uses that as her emblem. She's created a virus or something called 'Project Maleficent.' It...changes people. It brings the dead back and makes them serve her."

"And I'm supposed to defeat her?" Gold's voice raised in pitch at this new detail.

He wasn't a soldier, he wasn't a warrior. He was just a man. He didn't have the ability or the experience to do what he was being told he had to do.

"That's what the story says," Henry said, his voice soft with hope. "If you can't, then I'm afraid that we're all lost. We can't hold out much longer. It _has_ to be you."

Gold leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. None of this made any sense. Why would they be waiting for _him_? He was crippled, he was old, he was widely believed to be insane. The only things he really had in his life worth anything were Bae and Belle, and he may have lost them both to this damned machine. There was nothing special about him at all. He was on the verge of saying as much to Henry when there was a knock on the door and Mulan hurried in. He could tell from the way she was staring at him that she'd been informed of this prophecy as well. Perhaps her education had been slightly more complete than his, and he made a mental note to see if she were more willing to share information than Henry had been.

"What's the matter?" Henry asked her.

"She's asked for parley," Mulan sounded breathless. Had she run the entire way here or was this news just that exciting?

"What do you mean?" Henry leapt to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair in his excitement.

"I mean she's sent us a message – she wants to meet with him."

Mulan gestured towards Gold as she said it and he felt the blood drain out of his face.

"Are you insane?" Henry exclaimed. "We can't send him to meet her!"

"We have to," Mulan protested. "She's never asked for a meeting before. This could be our one chance to kill her."

"We can't," Henry replied. "She'd kill him without blinking!"

"We'll both be there," Mulan continued. "She'd have to get through both of us."

"She'd have her own lieutenants there," Henry replied. "It's suicide."

Mulan looked like she might keep arguing, but Gold had heard enough. They were talking about him as though he weren't in the room, and he was the one who was supposed to meet with this person so really it was his call.

"Where does she want this meeting to take place?" Gold broke in.

Mulan and Henry both turned to look at him in tandem.

"You can't seriously be considering this," Henry said incredulously. "We've waited for you to arrive so long, we can't risk it now."

"Do you know what I'm supposed to do while I'm here?" Gold asked.

"Well, not exactly. But you're supposed to save us!"

"How do you know that this isn't part of it, then?"

Henry was silent, but Mulan had a smug look on her face.

"So," Gold continued, something akin to bravery coming to him now. "Where does she want to meet?"

Mulan looked startled at suddenly being put on the spot, but recovered quickly.

"She wants to meet in her camp."

"Absolutely not," he said. "And you can't very well invite her in here if what Henry says about her project causing illness is true. I'll meet her outside the gates."

"You can't," Henry protested weakly. "She'll kill you."

"Clearly she doesn't kill me," he said as he pulled himself out of the chair. "Because somebody has to start this damned prophecy in the first place. But Mulan is right, both of you should come with me."

Henry still looked dubious, but Mulan was smiling like the cat who caught the canary.

"I'll go have them send back your counter-offer," she said, making a quick exit.

"This is a terrible idea," Henry said softly. "You don't know her, she's merciless."

"Has your cousin managed to come up with a cure yet?"

Henry froze stiff at that question and Gold had his answer.

"And if I don't go to this meeting," he continued. "What do you think she'll do?"

Henry didn't reply, but there was no need. They both knew what would happen: these people would be destroyed entirely. If nothing else, he was buying them time.

"I hope you're right," Henry said softly. "If you're not, gods help us all."

They managed to spend the majority of the day sending messages back and forth, during which time Gold had sat in on Aurora deciphering the plans Henry had retrieved. Mulan sat in as well, but she made no attempt at actually reading them. Instead, she seemed more interested in providing companionship to her friend. Gold had attempted to help, but found most of it to be over his head. His background was in physics, not in biology and he was hundreds of years behind their technology besides.

Instead, he observed. He was fairly sure he had figured out who he was to them, but wasn't willing to make his guess known yet. Something about the way Henry's face looked so damn _earnest_ sometimes put him in mind of his son, but Aurora's eyes reminded him of Belle's. The color wasn't exact, but something about them just put him in mind of his wife. It was almost too much to hope for, but hope was all he had right now, and if Aurora and Henry were his descendants then it meant that he did find her eventually. It had to.

It was near nightfall by the time Zelena had agreed to all his terms. She had marched her troops to within twenty yards of the wall before splitting off with her guard. Gold waited with Mulan and Henry just inside the gate until they were too close for a sniper to safely get off a shot without risking hitting Zelena. It was a calculated risk, but he had to trust that it was the one he was supposed to make. The alternatives were far too confusing to consider.

"So, this is him?" she cooed.

Zelena was a tall, redheaded woman with a cultured accent. She was beautiful, but something about her terrified him.

"Apparently so, dearie," Gold replied coolly. This meeting was supposed to be with him, and he wouldn't draw Henry and Mulan into it any more than he needed to.

"Fascinating," Zelena was looking at him like a particularly strange piece of art.

She reached out and stroked his face, and he couldn't control his recoil. She frowned angrily, but quickly schooled her features back into nonchalance.

"I hear you've come a long way, Traveler," she said, before glancing to Henry and Mulan and the looks of shock on their faces. "Oh don't be so surprised, we've all heard the stories."

She began moving around him, examining him like a horse.

"So this is the man who's supposed to destroy me? The Traveler of legend? You've chosen your heroes poorly, children. He's weak."

She sniffed at this final remark, returning to stand between her two lieutenants.

"Incidentally," she said. "How are you children enjoying the plans you've stolen from me? Found anything interesting?"

"We're close to understanding it," Mulan said defiantly. "And from there it's just a matter of time until we can stop you."

"Right," Zelena purred. "Oh how rude of me! I haven't introduced my two associates. I understand they used to be friends of yours – before."

She snapped her fingers and the two men with her took off their hoods. One was tall and dark skinned, while the other was small and fair. Mulan and Henry were looking between the two with horrified looks on their faces. Both men remained passive, their eyes fixed straight ahead. Something was wrong with them, but he'd have to wait to return to the safety of the walls before asking any questions of his companions.

"You keep talking, dearie," Gold replied. "But you and I both know you wouldn't have come here in full force if you weren't afraid of what they had."

She narrowed her eyes at him, silently fuming.

"It doesn't matter what they have," she said flippantly. "Because tomorrow this place will be a pile of smoldering ruins and your machine will be mine. Sleep well tonight, children."

She turned then and stalked off, the two men following close on her heels. As soon as she was outside of throwing range, the gate swung open and the three of them hurried inside. Henry still looked shell-shocked, but Mulan immediately sought out Aurora who had been waiting anxiously for their return.

"It was Philip," she blurted out, pulling the other woman into a tight embrace. "She has Lance and Philip. I'm so sorry, Aurora. They're gone now."

Aurora went stiff in Mulan's arms, and Gold looked away. He couldn't face the grief he saw there.

"Philip was Aurora's fiance," Henry whispered low enough to not be overheard. "And Lance used to be my commanding officer."

"I take it that this was unexpected?"

"They're both dead," Henry said flatly. "She can reanimate corpses and bring them to her thrall. It's why she's so hard to defeat. We don't know how to undo the curse, either."

"So they're both..." he couldn't determine the best way to ask this.

"They're both gone," Henry said finally. "There's no bringing them back. Those weren't our friends, those were their bodies."

For the first time in his life, Gold had felt brave. And now that bravery was fleeing and his blood ran cold. This was not a fight he had been prepared for, and he had no idea how to even begin now that he was embroiled in it.


	24. Scientific Method

Gold had never seen a more tense evening than the one he spent in the future. Once he managed to escape Henry's chaperonage, he wandered the makeshift camps in what still felt like his front yard. Gold had grown up in poverty – raised by two spinsters and educated on charity – and briefly lived in the slums after his stint in the military, but he'd never seen anything like _this._ There were crying, filthy children and numb looking parents (but rarely two of them) clustered around fires and little boxes that hissed and crackled and sometimes gave out a little voice.

It was still inconceivable that he might be the one to save these people, but the more time he spent here the more convinced he was that – regardless of what he really wanted – this was something that Belle and Bae would want him to do. More than that, they would be disappointed in him if he were to try to escape now. He wanted to run, but didn't dare do so. He'd spent his life running, but now that he needed to he found he couldn't. Not this time, not when he couldn't be sure he'd ever see them again. He couldn't let them down.

But he wanted to. Oh, gods, how he wanted to! No matter how far he traveled or what he was supposed to do, he was still a man who had shot himself to get out of the military. He was a man who had locked himself away from the world for fear of his son preferring that to him. He was a coward, and he always had be. Except now he had to be a hero, and he wasn't sure he was ready for it. In stories, the hero was tall and young and always did what was right. Heroes didn't look like him, they looked like David Nolan. They were tall and broad shouldered and handsome. They were charming and made people want to follow them. He was a small man with a bloody time machine, he was in no way qualified for these sorts of heroics.

He wandered closer to the fires and the small talking boxes, thankful at least that the people were too absorbed in their own fear and pain to notice the stranger in their midst, or ask him any awkward questions. Now that he was close enough, he could hear the voices that occasionally broke through the buzzing. They were listening to military updates of some sort. He'd spent just long enough in the military to know what was being said, and now he understood the looks on their faces. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and up against an enemy who would slaughter them to a man and use their corpses to fuel her army.

He couldn't know what Zelena's goal was – it made no sense to him to destroy the entire populace, who would you rule over? That hadn't seemed to dissuade her, though, at their meeting. The woman was damn terrifying and – frankly – seemed rather unhinged. Perhaps he shouldn't be trying to apply logic to her.

"You were supposed to stay in the house," Mulan's voice broke into his thoughts.

"I don't remember being arrested, dearie," he replied coldly. "What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be with the other fighters?"

"Henry sent me to find you," she said. "He was worried about you."

"You can tell Henry I'm a grown man, and I'm not going anywhere. There's no need to make a fuss."

"You can tell him yourself when you're back inside."

"What is he so afraid of?" Gold snapped. "What doesn't he want me to see?"

She sighed at his behavior, and grabbed his arm to pull him away. He shrugged her off immediately, turning back to the fire and the talking box.

"Come inside," she insisted in a low voice. "We can talk in there."

He narrowed his eyes at her. Since he'd landed he'd been misled, had information withheld from him, been threatened, dragged into a war he had nothing to do with, and told he had to be the savior of humanity. His patience was wearing very, very thin at the moment and he had no reason to trust her at all.

"Come on," Mulan continued. "There are many things you don't know."

He relented, following her into the house and letting her lead him into one of the rooms that had been a sitting room and that now seemed to be some sort of storage. She flipped one of the many little switches and lights came on. He wanted to stop and examine the circuitry, try to learn its secrets and discover what made it work. There was no time for that, though. He had too much to do, and it was this loss of that which made him _him_ that finally broke the dams.

Gold shoved a pile of boxes over, knocking blankets and knickknacks onto the floor. He picked one up and threw it hard against the wall. To Mulan's credit, she didn't even flinch as all he screamed and shouted and shattered things against the walls. It wasn't _fair_. He hadn't ever asked for this, he'd simply wanted to prove himself sane. He'd thought that this was the thing that would make his name, the thing that would make his son proud of him and make his wife love him. Instead, he may be lost forever to his son and he had no idea where Belle might be and only the vaguest reasons to hope he might see her again. It wasn't fair. It _wasn't fair_.

He vented his rage on the contents of the supply closet, and by the time he had finished and collapsed against the wall with tears of anger and fear and sorrow running hot down his cheeks the room looked as though a storm had ripped through it. Mulan was, thankfully, tactful enough to say nothing. She hadn't flinched as he had raged, and she didn't now that he wept. Instead, the girl stood amongst the ruined things that surely her people must need and let him sob himself out.

"I only wanted to prove I could do it," he mumbled more to himself than to her. "I never thought it would end like this. Never."

"We don't get to choose our destiny," she said softly. "I'd not have chosen this fate for myself – none of us would. You had far more say in the events that brought you here than any of us ever did."

"So you know?" he turned towards her hopefully. "You know how I came, you know my reasons?"

"Aurora has told me some of it."

"Then tell me how it ends."

"Anything I tell you could alter events," she replied. He should have expected this, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. "We must be careful and have faith that you'll do what you must when the time is right."

"Why? Why must we have faith?" he was angry and lashing out again. "Who must we have faith in? What god has ever saved you, dearie? You sit trapped like rats as an enemy greater than any the world has ever faced surrounds you and you say we should have _faith_?"

"Faith is all we have," she insisted. "Faith is what's kept us going all this time – faith in our friends, in our loved ones...faith in you. Faith in those stories they heard in the cradle."

"This makes no sense! Where do these stories come from? How can you possibly have ever expected me?"

His head was starting to throb with the effort of trying to make sense of it all. Aurora was standing there staring at him as though he were a madman, and she might be right about that. But he still had valid points.

"All hope is not yet lost," she said. "You can still find your wife. You haven't failed her."

She was clearly trying to console him and it really wasn't working, but he almost appreciated her effort. Almost.

"What can you possibly know about failing my wife?" he muttered bitterly. "I promised to protect her and I don't even know when the hell she is for certain. Have you ever failed so utterly to protect a person you loved? Have you ever laid awake at night wishing that it was you? That you might be the one to be lost?"

She looked as though he'd slapped her, her eyes going wide with shock before she masterfully covered it with her stoic expression.

"You don't know what I've lived through," she said so quietly he couldn't have been sure he heard her correctly. "You don't know who I've lost, or who I've loved."

He sniffed at that. She was right, he didn't know her. But there was no way to know her now. If he knew her, he might care about her and if he cared about her he might let her down. He respected Mulan, though. The girl was strong, and he did tend to respond to that in women. It was why he'd initially liked Belle, and he liked it in Mulan. Not like that, of course. He'd begun to feel oddly paternal about this little group some of whom he may or may not have had a hand in creating. They were just slightly older than Bae, after all – practically children themselves and yet they had been forced to live in this world that he could only scarcely comprehend.

They were his responsibility, weren't they? Wasn't Zelena just the end result of his sort of science – of doing something simply to see if you could? He had, however indirectly, caused this to happen. And now he was being called on to fix it.

He just didn't know how to begin doing that.

"Alright," he said softly to Mulan. "You win."

The next day dawned too early, a deceptively rosy dawn rising over the survivors in their meager city. Gold wondered idly if there were other camps, other isolated pockets of resistance. How far did Zelena's reach extend? He'd not slept, but then he doubted anyone had. The mood was tense and the air felt thick and suffocating. He wished he'd never come, he wished he didn't wish for that.

Henry seemed to have taken over as de facto leader now that the mayor (such as he was) had come to such a terrible end. He'd insisted that Gold join him in the command room, seemingly convinced that whatever assistance the older man had to offer must be in strategy. Gold had never been much for military tactics (that had always been more Bae's calling) but couldn't for the life of him determine what other use he could possibly be, and so he was looking out a window over the refugees-cum-townspeople as they attempted to move the very old and very young (and there were far too few of both) into whatever shelter the house had to offer. There were no able-bodied civilians here.

To his surprise, Mulan was there as well. He'd thought for sure the young woman would be on the front lines, but it seemed wherever Aurora was Mulan would be also – at least for a little while, anyway.

All around them preparations had been made and now it was eerily silent. He didn't know what Zelena was up to, but all this delay was making him almost wish she would attack just so they could react. Everyone's entire focus was on the perimeter walls. Something felt wrong. He couldn't quite put his finger on what, exactly, but _something_ was wrong.

Zelena had enough firepower to destroy them all easily. So why had she waited? Why hadn't the attack come at midnight? Or at four in the morning? Or at any time when people would be asleep? Why had she waited until they woke? Why was she still waiting? Why did she want everyone to be alert and waiting for her? Gold wasn't one for tactics, but he knew that this didn't make sense. It made sense for her to attack when they weren't expecting it. People would panic, they would get sloppy, and they would be easily subdued. She had superior arms, equipment, and forces. She could have crushed them by now without even getting her hands dirty, without even bothering to meet him. Unless there was some reason not to. Some reason she needed to leave this place in one piece, some reason to contain the panic.

_Oh gods..._

He made to run towards the door when suddenly the building shook from impact. The battle had begun.


	25. Relativity

He was a fool, such a fool! He'd been so focused on what everyone else was telling him that he hadn't stopped to think about what he _saw_ and, more importantly, what he didn't see. As he burst through the back doors of the house his worst fears were confirmed – _Eurydice_ sat alone and unguarded in the place where a shed had once stood. Nearly everyone had fled to the front lawn to face the onslaught Zelena's forces had launched against them there. Only a token defense remained to sound the alarm should anyone attempt to breach the back gates, but with the full might of her army focused on the front lawn why would they leave valuable man-power in an area that wasn't under attack?

He'd known all along that she made no sense. What joy could there possibly be in ruling over a ruined pile of dirt? It's not what he would have done in her place, and it wasn't her end goal, either. No, she would want her story told. She had probably worked for years – if not decades – to perfect her virus, she would want generations to quake at the sound of her name. Total annihilation of the human race would rob her of all that.

His arrival meant that she could have all of time to rule over. All of the past and all of the future, the human race would be hers to do with as she pleased. He had been so _stupid_.

Of course she had drawn everyone to the front, because she'd not want to risk damaging _Eurydice. _She had waited until they would be least likely to panic so that she could guarantee nobody would stumble upon her. She had wanted to meet him in order to confirm the rumors were true. He had underestimated her entirely, and he only hoped it wasn't too late to rectify this error.

He had to get to the machine, and he had to take it beyond Zelena's reach, because failure meant that his wife and child would be at the mercy of a madwoman. His leg burned from the exertion of even getting as far as the lawn, adrenaline the only thing that had carried him this far. He could only hope it would be enough as he limped down the grass towards his machine. Even as he tried to run, he could hear the whirr of machinery growing closer – oh gods it was coming from above.

He tried to run faster, but his body was betraying him. He didn't dare look up, he couldn't risk the time it would take him to do so, but he could feel the wind whipping across the lawn and heard the shots fired at the guards on the tower. He hoped they were smart enough to take cover, or to call for help. Or to do literally anything but stand there and be shot at. He was too close to the machine for her to risk firing on him – small mercies, at least, in a place that seemed otherwise helplessly devoid of them. He was closer than she was, he just had to keep pace and he'd be there.

He reached _Eurydice_ as Zelena's craft landed, only now realizing the damage to it that had been inflicted by the lizards in the past. Hopefully, it hadn't been jarred too badly by his trip here or the earth shaking from Zelena's onslaught. He only needed to travel once more, and then he could fix it. Just once more...

"Give it up, Gold," Zelena's voice came tinny and crackled over some sort of broadcasting system. "You're too late to stop me."

"Not by half, dearie," he muttered under his breath. For Belle, for _Bae._

"If you think I won't destroy you to keep it here, you're sorely mistaken."

Her craft had landed, now, and he heard a hissing noise before a set of stairs lowered from it to the grass below. He recognized Zelena before she even reached the ground – no one else he had seen here wore such severe clothing. Even her soldiers in their uniforms seemed more at ease than she did in her high-necked blouses and that ridiculously gaudy glowing green broach she wore pinned at her neck.

She turned and began striding across the lawn towards him as though she owned the place already. Although perhaps she did, even now her forces were launching a full scale assault against the front of this last stronghold for safety. He could be speaking even now to the woman who would own his family home.

"Be realistic, Traveler," she called over the din of her vehicle. "Your machine is damaged. You're trapped here."

"It's moved since taking the damage," he replied in a sing-song voice that he hoped didn't betray his absolute terror. "There's no reason to think it won't now."

"Would you really risk your life on that conjecture?" she asked him, coming to stand in front of the console and caressing it in a way he was sure was meant to be suggestive. "I know you. I've heard all the same stories those children in there have."

"And yet, you seem to have missed the ending," he taunted her. If he could keep her distracted, maybe she wouldn't notice him adjusting the controls.

"You don't want to die here, Gold," she said frankly. "I can't say I blame you. What's the use in dying for a lost cause? No one will tell tales of the brave ones who stood against me. No one will even remember them tomorrow. Join me. Think of what we could do with my power and your brains."

She was flirting with him, he realized. She was legitimately trying to seduce him into helping her end the human race. He wasn't accustomed enough to women trying to charm him that his ego was unaffected, but the woman was entirely off-putting and frankly she seemed deranged. His natural reaction to her presence was to recoil. Everything about Zelena just made him miss Belle more. Gods, his wife – his beautiful wife with her soft voice and her courage and her genius. She would have known what to do, and she would have done it by now.

Thoughts of Belle buoyed him, at least. Zelena would have all of humanity for her puppets. One way or the other, he must put this machine beyond her reach. She had been right that the machine was damaged – he had seen it with his own eyes, after all. But he knew something she did not, because he had seen it damaged before, and he knew what it was capable of. If he was right, he could save them all and if he was wrong...well, he might not save these people but he could save his wife and his son. He could save all of history, if not himself. He said a quick prayer for Bae to grow into the man he knew he could be, and that Belle was safe where he thought he may have left her.

He smiled bitterly. He had been so close to happy before all of this, but he was the one who had caused this and he was the one who must end it. He had no other choice as he flipped the switch. _Eurydice_ shuddered, and the power supply groaned and he heard a loud _crack _as it began shooting out electricity in arcs around the machine. Zelena's eyes went wide at the sight and she backed away. It was the first fear he had seen on her face, the first emotion besides smug confidence. She turned as though about to flee from him when a bolt of light struck her where she stood and in a moment Zelena was no more. She was beyond the reaches of time now. Before even the first life sputtered into existence. Even her intellect and her power could do no harm from there.

He sagged heavily as the machine shivered and died. He climbed down from his seat, leaning heavily on _Eurydice_ as he went to check the power source. It was as he feared – instead of a healthy purple glow he now saw a fried-looking black stain on the bar that channeled the current. He could not repair this, he knew. His plans were in the past, and the odds of them having survived were close to zero. Even if he remembered how to do it, he would still need to find everything he needed to fix it. It could be years before he was even able to test again, if he ever was. They were all saved, but he would never see his family again.

He fell to his knees on the grass, then, and wept openly. He had come so far, and he had been so close to success, but at the cost of all he held dear.

Gold didn't know how long he was on the ground for, but at some point he became aware the sounds of battle had stopped. He wondered idly if that meant he was about to be killed – or worse. He didn't care anymore, though. He'd done what he needed to do and he could go no further now. It was over. Maybe if he just closed his eyes he could stop feeling anymore, he could drift away and find Belle and Bae somewhere beyond even the reach of time.

He heard footsteps rapidly approaching him and couldn't help the fear that clenched in his belly, but he forced it down before it could make him run. He wanted to die. He had simply run out of reasons to live. He had not saved the future, or himself, but he had at least saved the past.

Instead of Zelena's unholy army, though, he turned to see Henry and Aurora and Mulan approaching him at a fast clip. Henry was carrying his cane and held it out like an offering once they reached him.

"You did it," Henry said breathlessly. "I don't know what you did, but you did it!"

"I did nothing," Gold said flatly. "I sent Zelena away, that's all."

"Well whatever it was, it worked," Mulan added. "Her army just...stopped."

He held back a chuckle at that and finally turned to look at them. Of course Zelena had been pompous enough to tie her army's performance to her continued existence. What else would she have done?

"Must have been that damn broach of hers," he muttered. "The glowing one. It had something in it, I'm sure."

"That makes sense," Aurora agreed. "We'll have to examine them more closely, but it could have been a transmitter of some type. That would mean it could be possible to undo the curse!"

She had a wide smile on her face as she looked at her friend and her cousin, but Mulan's smile seemed oddly forced for someone whose entire way of life had just been preserved and Henry was still staring at Gold and looking like he had just gotten every wish he'd ever made answered.

"Why are you so upset?" Mulan said, studying him with mild confusion on her face. She was refreshing, at least, in that she always said exactly what she thought regardless of the situation.

"Tactful as always," he said with a soft smile in spite of himself. "She's gone."

He pointed softly towards the machine, but they all knew what he meant. _Eurydice_ had been a way back to Belle, and he had lost both.

"What's wrong with it?" Henry sounded legitimately confused as he came to study the machine. "It looks like it's in one piece."

"The power source," Gold replied. "I had to destroy the power source to send Zelena away."

"Where has she gone?" this was Mulan again, ever the pragmatist.

"Beyond where even she can cause trouble," he assured her.

Mulan looked like she was about to question him further, she wanted to know _exactly_ when and where Zelena was and whether she should be preparing for any further threats, but Aurora interrupted.

"We can fix this," she exclaimed excitedly. "Henry, don't you recognize this?"

Henry shook his head and Gold looked up at the woman in confusion.

"This is from the drawings in the attic!" Aurora was giddy now. "You know, the room we weren't supposed to go into as children."

"I remember the room full of old tools and things," Henry replied. "And the books in there. But I don't remember this."

"Those books were notes," she looked over at Gold. "They must have been your notes! We have the diagrams for this and all your data! We can repair this."

Gold collapsed onto the grass, the relief and joy that overwhelmed him robbing him completely of speech. He had lost all hope, and now its return felt like slapping a leg awake after he'd been sitting for too long. His chest burned from the exertion of having something to live for. He wanted to scream in pain, but he also wanted to shout his joy from the rooftops. Instead, he sobbed weakly into the grass from his knees as Aurora gave Henry and Mulan instructions on what she needed and where to find the promised notes.

Home. He was going _home._

Aurora had been true to her word. She'd kept all his notes tenderly, despite the traumas of her life. He knew it hurt her to dedicate this time to repairing his machine for him when her fiance's fate remained uncertain but she knew as well as he did that the longer he spent here the more danger they were all in. He had to get back before any further changes to time were made.

She proved competent at her job, at least, and it was a matter of just a few days before they once again had _Eurydice_ in usable condition. It was surprising, he thought, how much of the romance had worn off of time travel since he'd lost Belle. With everything else he'd been through, the prospect of even going through all this once more made him squeamish. He just wanted to lock himself in a room with his wife and son for the rest of his life to make sure he never had to be parted from them again. But first he had to find them.

"You're sure this is the correct date?" Aurora said as she turned the dials on the machine to the coordinates he'd given her.

"Yes," he said with a smile. "Trust me, I'm sure. There are some days you never forget. Not ever."

He took his seat behind the console and looked at Aurora and Henry and Mulan. He'd never have known them, if not for this. And he was glad to have met them all. They gave him some slim hope for the future and for his family. If anyone could overcome everything they had been put through, it was these three.

"You all know that I've found her, don't you?" he said finally. What could it hurt to ask his questions now?

Henry looked conflicted for a moment, but it was Aurora who spoke.

"Yes, we do."

"So then, you are..." he couldn't quite bring himself to finish the statement but Aurora nodded anyway. "Through Baethan or do I have other children?"

That was the question that been plaguing him. Would he and Belle ever have a family? Would she ever feel ready?

"Both, actually," Henry said with a grin and a shrug. "It's been a very long time since you were around."

He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. _Both._ There would be children again. He could only hope as to the circumstances, but the image of Belle holding their child came to him unbidden. _Both._

"Take care of them," Gold said to Mulan, unable to put into words the emotions that had come up at this final bit of knowledge.

"I will," she said. "Take care, Traveler."

"I will," he looked at them all one last time. They were his family, though he would never see them again. He had somehow saved them all and they had given him his future.

He pulled the lever to start the machine.

Belle wasn't quite sure what had happened, but Rum and Bae were gone and so was the machine. It was daylight, too. What the hell?

Oh, damn. The lightning that was coming off the machine had hit her. She was still in the shed, but it was filled with dust and cobwebs. Was it before or after she came here? How long? Would anyone recognize her? Damn that machine! She never should have let him try to test it! Her best option was to wait for a rescue, but could she even be sure of one coming? Would he know where she was? The longer Belle stayed here, the more remote that possibility seemed.

Oh, what was she going to do?

She had just made up her mind to sneak out into the yard to try to get an idea of when she was, when she heard a small noise behind her. She turned, and saw her husband standing on _Eurydice_ where neither had been before. He was looking at her as though she were a ghost, and she knew the feeling.

She rushed into his arms, and he fell back onto his seat with her curled up in his lap.

"I thought I'd lost you," he was murmuring into her hair and she wasn't sure who started crying first but now they both were. "I went so far to find you, gods, Belle."

He grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her like he was drowning and she couldn't imagine what he must have felt because she hadn't been here more than an hour but for him it could have been years.

"I'm here now," she promised. "I'm not going anywhere, you found me."

"I'm just so glad you're safe," he sobbed, pulling her tight against him.

It was almost painful, but she didn't dare move. She would ask him what had happened later, but for now he needed this touch and reassurance, and she stroked his hair and whispered nonsense to him until his sobs turned to kisses and he had returned to her.

"Where are we, anyway?" she said softly.

He blushed a little, but answered her anyway.

"This is the day that you first came to me."

"Oh," she said simply before a memory struck her. "You set this in the machine, didn't you? That's how you knew where to find me."

"I did," he admitted.

"You said something about a perfect day..."

"You were the best thing to happen to me since Bae was born," he said softly. "It was a perfect day, because I wasn't alone anymore. Regardless of what happened with us, I always wanted you here. For that if nothing else."

She smiled and kissed him again.

"How long have I been gone?"

"A few weeks or a few billion years, depending on how you count."

"It sounds like you had an adventure," she replied, trying to keep the wistful note out of her voice. She'd have liked an adventure. "Will you tell me about it?"

"Soon," he promised. "I'll show you some things, if you like. After we've gone home, anyway. Bae was terrified and it's been quite a long trip."

"I can live with soon," she teased, curling up tighter into his lap. "Take me home, Rum."

They never told anyone of the machine, but that didn't stop them from using it on occasion. Belle was fascinated by the animals of the past, but it was the not-so-distant future that she truly found amazing. Women wearing trousers and working independent of their husbands! It was everything she'd always wanted for herself, and knowing it was coming made her a little less worried about starting a family somehow. She wasn't ready yet, but she knew she would be soon.

There did come a day when they stopped traveling, and both knew it was for the best when _Eurydice_ was reduced to a pile of spare parts and left to moulder in the shed. It was too much power for any one person to possess, much less two people. He had told her bits and pieces of his adventure in the future without her, but they both agreed that the less said by either on the subject the better.

She couldn't help but notice, though, the strange look on his face when he saw in the paper one morning that a strange fossilized woman had been found not too far away. Scientists were unable to determine how old the body was, but everyone agreed that for the corpse not to decay but to actually _fossilize_ was strange indeed. The paper seemed to think that there would be debate on this for centuries.

Rum merely smirked when she read him the news, and muttered something about how he was sure that's what she would have wanted in the end – to be remembered. That was the day they tore apart the machine. There were some riddles Belle wasn't sure she wanted the answer to, and she knew intuitively this would be one of them.

They made love on the console beforehand, a strange sort of goodbye to the thing that had brought them together and almost torn them apart. Afterward, as they lay on the floor in a pile of skirts and each other, Belle knew he had been right to choose her arrival as a perfect day. It's the one she would have chosen as well, because it was the first day of _this_. She'd not give up her husband and her home for anything, even for a thousand years of travel or academic success. This was where she belonged, at last.


	26. Conclusions

_Ten years later_

The marriage of Mr. Baethan Gold to Miss Emma Nolan was set to be the social event of the season. Only the very stodgiest of the village matrons even remembered that his father was married to his second wife, or that she hadn't been Bae's mother. If there were any lingering stains on the elder Dr. and Mrs. Gold's reputations as a result of the circumstances of that marriage, they were ignored in the hopes of an invitation to the union of the two leading families in the neighborhood.

Mr. Nolan was on record as being incredibly fond of his future son-in-law, and Mrs. Nolan was a notoriously kind and loving soul. Dr. Gold was a little less enthused with his son's choice of bride, but his wife had managed to keep any ill behavior in check for the entire week leading up to the wedding. She'd had marginally less success with her daughters Rosemary and Catherine, who had decided to be just as helpful as an eight year old and a five year old could possibly be, which is to say not very. Fortunately, baby Barclay (who Mrs. Gold swore was to be the last, but then she had said the same thing about Catherine) was far more well behaved than his sisters, or at least had his destruction limited to within arm's length.

Rumor had held that the second Mrs. Gold hadn't wanted children, but the arrival of Rosemary two years later seemed to have quelled any suspicions of her suitableness as a wife. Her quick adjustment to motherhood (she seemed to thrive with children running about) was quite nearly the stuff of legend. Her husband had taken to the change from being a father of one to being a father of four with a little less grace, but no less affection.

There had once been rumors that Dr. Gold had gone mad, but no one really believed that anymore. Since shortly before his marriage, he had begun to emerge in society more and more and then one day he had suddenly joined the world again. It was quite odd, but appreciated.

And now, his oldest son was to be married. It was a brilliant day for a wedding, after all, and nobody who had ever seen Baethan Gold and Emma Nolan had ever doubted for a moment that theirs would be a very happy union. A very happy union indeed.


End file.
